


Moon Rising

by Aella_Antiope, nekoshojo



Series: Mondlicht [2]
Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Angst, Fanart, Future Fic, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aella_Antiope/pseuds/Aella_Antiope, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekoshojo/pseuds/nekoshojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the Ball, Murata asks Wolfram out for tea.  Then things get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a thank you for nekoshojo, who encouraged me a lot in this fic, and enabled my obsession!! All the wonderful art in this is hers. 
> 
> And a shoutout to lunarsensitive - who betaed a lot of this at the last minute, and had to deal with all my swearing (there was a lot of swearing) :)

It was a week after the ball that Murata saw the young Lord von Bielefeld again. There had been opportunities before, but Bielefeld had conveniently been busy, caught up with squad field work or paperwork.

Murata had a feeling he was being avoided, but that was fine. Murata was a patient man. They both worked for the same king. Bielefeld couldn’t avoid him forever.

It was in a typical meeting with the usual advisors, Lord von Christ, von Voltaire, Weller, Shibuya of course and Yozak, and after an absence of one year, Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld.

Murata was happy to see him, to let that warm feeling fill his heart. The same feeling he’d had the night of the ball.

When Murata had followed Bielefeld out onto the balcony that night, it was on a whim. Bielefeld was an entertaining distraction, no more or less. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated Bielefeld’s beauty. Weary with memories he may be, but Murata Ken was only nineteen, and a pretty face and a great body would always get his attention. Moreover, Bielefeld was not only beautiful, but loyal, smart and had the angelic look that Murata found most appealing.

His only intent when he walked out onto the balcony with the wine was a quick chat and some flirtations.

That intent vanished as soon as he saw Bielefeld’s face, lit gently by the glow of the moon, beautiful eyes lost in thought. 

Shortly afterward, when he had danced with Bielefeld, shy eyes not quite meeting his, slender hands on his waist with a warmth which echoed in his heart, Murata came to a decision.

He was going to live a long life, and he had little desire to do it alone. All the traits that Murata admired and liked were in this man in his arms. In these matters Murata knew better than to hesitate. He wanted no more of regrets. 

Shibuya had had his chance. 

It was his turn. 

“I would most humbly request your company for morning tea, my Lord.” Murata smiled at Bielefeld after the meeting finished.

Bielefeld’s face went slightly pink, eyes darting around to see who else had heard. Nobody had. Yozak had left immediately, itching to get away from budget talk. Voltaire was speaking with von Christ, and Weller had exited the room a moment ago, trailing Shibuya.

“Please? I would like to hear about the latest happenings in Bielefeld Province.”

“I’m sure I forwarded the monthly reports to you,” Bielefeld replied swiftly. 

“I have no doubt. But I’d rather hear it in person. Besides, I haven’t had the opportunity to visit that part of Shin Makoku. So I’m keen to hear from someone who knows the area well.”

Murata smiled again. Bielefeld gave him a look that reminded him of a rabbit in a trap.

For a moment, Murata hesitated. Was it fair to force Bielefeld’s attention with social etiquette? A Lord would hardly snub the Sage.

“But, I understand if duty calls, Lord von Bielefeld.” He gave Bielefeld an escape. 

Bielefeld bit his lip slightly: there was a brief look of uncertainty, but then he nodded. “No, I would be pleased to take tea.”

That warmth filled him once more.

~***~

It was a warm pleasant day, so tea was in the main garden pagoda, attended to by one of the maids whom Murata dismissed after she had served them tea.

“A mild winter?”

Bielefeld snorted, a look of disdain on his face. It was absolutely fascinating. This young lord never seemed to have mastered the art of hiding his feelings. It was quite a weakness in the machinations of court life, but Murata was drawn to it. Having to live a life full of schemes and games he was forever acting. But Bielefeld was honest, abrupt with no pretence in his words or his demeanour. 

It was relaxing, over the last ten minutes or so he found himself unwind, all tension gone. Bielefeld would never betray him, would never lie – and he sorely wanted that in his life. A place of refuge, someone whom he could be honest with in return. To be himself.

_Careful, you might just fall in love._

He sloshed the tea at the intrusive idea. Love wasn’t his objective. He brought his attention back to Bielefeld.

“....but nobody raised in the south of the Great River could possibly know what true winter is like. Even the blizzards are tame.” 

Bielefeld frowned at him suddenly and said. “I don’t think I believe you just wanted me here to discuss Bielefeld province? What do you want of me?”

True to his personality. Direct. Murata should have known. 

How to respond? What to say? What do you really want, Murata Ken? Companionship? Sex? A partner in life? Someone to hold him at night? 

_Love_. That errant, most impractical idea again. Love was such a modern notion. So impractical. So...dangerous. Not necessary.

“I don’t believe there is any knowledge you want of me,” Bielefeld continued. “I’m not a great strategist. My knowledge of Bielefeld you can get from anyone. I’m not even engaged to the king, so it’s not even that you want me to intervene in his foolishness.” The last word was said with partial affection. “I doubt you want my friendship. You’ve hardly paid heed to me over the years. So I can only conclude, from court gossip, that you want a bit of a tumble. A pretty face and body to warm your bed for a while.”

“Really?” Murata said. There was a coldness that he couldn’t quite remove from his words. Bielefeld should know better than to believe gossip. 

“I’m not stupid,” Bielefeld continued, completely oblivious to Murata’s chill and his green eyes flashing with suppressed anger. “Ever since I’ve reached maturity...even _before_ then,” that was spat out distastefully, “I’ve had all manner of men and women wanting my attentions.” Bielefeld took a sip, and his voice was calm once more. “I’m blessed...or cursed with my mother’s looks, and everyone knows _her_ reputation. Like mother, like son, you see? Now that I’m single those attentions are back. You aren’t alone.”

“I don’t want that of you, Bielefeld.”

“Oh no, then I guess the dance and this tea is just for fun? You’re a busy man, Your Eminence. I doubt you’d want to waste your time for no reason.” Bielefeld dropped the cup on the plate with a clunk, and his green eyes became hard like flint. “But I don’t do casual affairs. Not for anyone, no matter their station.”

“Then I’m glad. Because I’m not interested in a casual affair.” 

“Oh right?” Bielefeld laughed out loud derisively. “What, you want to marry me and live happily ever after and raise children in one happy family?”

“Yes, I do,” Murata responded and the smile dropped off Bielefeld’s face. His green eyes became wide. If it wasn't for his heart suddenly galloping in his ribs, it would almost be funny. “I want to court you, and eventually I want to marry you. I wouldn’t even mind children one day, if that’s what you want. Because I think you are the most interesting, honest, and beautiful man I’ve come across in a very long while. I want you to be my husband. So what say you to that?”

“.... _What_?” Bielefeld whispered in shock. 

“Let me court you, my Lord, because I very much like to.”

~***~

Wolfram pulled his boots off and flung them to the other side of room. They landed with a satisfying thunk.

“You’re a complete idiot. What were you thinking?”

Was he talking about that perverted Sage, or was he saying that to himself?

With a groan, he dropped his head back on the bed. “What an idiot,” he said again out loud.

What was he doing? Challenging the Sage that way. What was he hoping to accomplish? 

_“Fine, then. Go ahead. Just know it will take more than some tea, sweet words, and a dance to win me over. Don’t expect it to be easy.”_

_“Oh, I never expected that at all, my Lord. I will enjoy the challenge.”_

And now he had the Sage’s attention. The man was going to court him. Court _him_? He’d never allowed anyone such liberties before. It’s not like the king had even had the chance. Not that the wimp would even have tried if he had. He ignored the inevitable heartache at that thought. Pushing that away, he balled his fingers’ into tights fists. 

_Fine!_

If the Sage saw it as a challenge, so would he. 

Wolfram sat up. Let the Sage try, let him make a fool of himself in front of the whole damn court. Wolfram had enough of such notions. He wasn’t going to get engaged to anyone again. He certainly would never marry. 

He’d not let himself be beholden to anyone other than his duty to the king and his uncle.

He put his hand over his heart, his fingers curled over it. He’d never let anyone make him feel that way again.

~***~

The Sage didn’t do anything further for a week. No requests for tea, chit chats, nothing at all. Wolfram didn’t think that to mean he’d given up, oh no, after all, the social season had barely begun. There would be plenty of opportunities.

And plenty of opportunities to turn the Sage down.

That night would be the Orange Blossom Ball, one of the first of a number of ‘must attend’ balls of the season. Wolfram had thought hard about not attending, or if he must attend, to hide on the balcony again. Though that clearly was no longer an option; the Sage, who had been shooting him stupid smiles all the meeting, would corner him there.

He had returned to the capital to work with Brother, to represent his province, and to serve the king. To not be seen would bring dishonour on himself and his house. And considering how much of a wimp the king was, it was his duty to protect him; that would never change. He would always lay his life down for the wimp.

“Umm...Wolfram? Can we talk?” The king had asked after the meeting. 

He hadn’t really had a chance to talk to Yuuri since...well, that day. Certainly not alone. But he couldn’t avoid it. It had been over a year; he was an adult, a soldier. He could not ignore the king.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

The king sighed. “I’d really like if you used my name Wolf...” the king shook his head. “Anyway, I just wanted to...I wanted to...umm, talk to you about tonight.” 

“About the ball?”

“Yes. Well...umm....” the king trailed off, looking pained. “It’s just, you know, Claudia and I have become close...and well...I’m going to announce our engagement tonight. We’re going to get married.”

“Very well,” Wolfram said. His voice sounded so very distant, even to himself. There was a coldness in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it, to allow it to show. 

“Well yeah. I just thought you should know. You know?” The king scratched his head.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want you to feel..” The king sighed, looking miserable. “I’m sorry, Wolf.”

Wolfram nodded. “Well, I should be going. Preparations for the ball.”

“Yeah...okay.”

When he got back to his room, Wolfram found it quite the achievement that he’d managed it without once setting fire to anything or breaking down into tears.

~***~

Claudia von Spitzweg. Second cousin, twice removed. His great grandfather on the Spitzweg side had been quite fertile, having thirteen children, quite rare for a mazoku, so the Spitzweg clan had spread out quite a bit. She was a water user, her mother being from the Gyllenhaal clan, and Wolfram barely knew her though they were of similar age.

Wolfram had hardly seen her at balls after he’d reached adulthood; apparently she had been a sickly child (a very un-mazoku constitution), and her health had only improved in recent years.

He was fairly certain she wasn’t the reason that the king had broken off the engagement to him. At that time, she was only a number of girls that had caught the wimp’s attention…

Wolfram never much thought about it before being engaged; he didn’t even have a word for it - but Yuuri back then had introduced him to it. Gay. 

_“I’m not gay, Wolf. I mean, you’re pretty and all..but…”_

Wolfram supposed he was gay. If he _had_ to use a human label, which he was loathe too. Mazoku didn’t use ‘gay’ or ‘straight’. Mazoku had preferences; most preferred both genders, but Wolfram had never much understood or found women appealing. And he’d never understood his fiancé’s attraction to them. He preferred men. Well...mostly he had preferred Yuuri alone, but when he had bothered to look elsewhere, in an abstract sense he’d only ever found men interesting.

Women were confusing. It wasn’t that he disliked them generally. He was rather fond of Elizabeth, in small doses. Anissina was frightening, but he had a great deal of respect for her intelligence, though he’d never say as much. And Gisela… was quite formidable as a healer and soldier.

The girl he loved the most was his daughter, Greta, the most beautiful daughter he could ever have. She was visiting her friend Beatrice in the human nations, after much begging - her last letters were gushing praise about the social court life there. 

He was glad she was happy. He had a feeling she was enjoying that social scene more than here. The king had tried, but humans were still frowned upon by most of the nobility and mazoku merchant class, and Greta had always been sensitive to disapproval.

He stood next to Conrad at the throne and watched as the king danced with Claudia.

It was difficult for him to understand the appeal of Claudia, even allowing for her sex. She was pretty, he supposed. But no more or less than others he knew, her colouring was very much Spitzweg, and they were widely considered very attractive, but he supposed he wasn’t in a position to judge these things.

Wolfram didn’t hate Claudia. It wasn’t her fault that the king had rejected him. But he didn’t think he’d ever like her. Though he supposed he would get used to her presence, for Yuuri did seem serious about her.

It was clear to anyone who watched them dance that the King was infatuated with her. The king had never looked at him that way. There was that cold clenching in his heart, a familiar feeling, a useless feeling. 

So caught up in his unhappy thoughts was he that he didn’t see the Sage until he was in front of him.

The man had that annoying enigmatic smirk on his face. Ebony hair gleaming, dark eyes glinting with amusement. Murata raised his arm, palm up in invitation.

“Care to dance, my Lord?”

No. Not at all. Never. This courting was the worst idea, but, his eyes flickered over the king laughing at some joke Claudia made.

He placed his hand out and rested it on Murata’s hand, and nodded, letting the Sage lead him out onto the dance floor.

~***~

Murata knew that Shibuya would announce his engagement that night.

Yozak had dropped by to inform him while he was going through the daily reports. 

Bad timing, even if Shibuya had the courage to tell Bielefeld beforehand, and that wasn’t necessarily a certainty.

Murata had half a mind to go and ask the young king to delay the announcement, but that would be selfish. _“See, Shibuya, I’ve just started to court your pretty ex-fiancé. I am extremely fond of him, and I’m afraid you making an announcement such as this is only going to make it far more difficult for me.”_

Murata snorted, imagining Shibuya’s expression if he did just that. But he wouldn’t, and not just because Murata didn’t want to discuss his intentions to Shibuya. 

Murata pulled his glasses off briefly and rubbed his eyes. This was bound to happen anyway. 

It was inevitable that Bielefeld would suffer. It wasn’t easy to stop caring about your first love, after all. He knew that very well. 

“You know, I was almost convinced that you’d end up married to the young king,” Shinou said conversationally, walking around the desk and sitting on the edge casually while fiddling around with the clasp on his robe.

Murata didn’t see Shinou as often as before, but he still popped by from time to time for chit chats. He wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or cautiously happy that Shinou was around and still somewhat sane, or as sane as an egotistical king with godlike powers could be. He wondered if Shinou would ever leave the kingdom.

 _‘Almost convinced’_ , Shinou said, more like _wanted_ him to, but Murata didn’t voice that suspicion out loud.

Murata slid his glasses back on. “I thought you could see the future?”

“Oh you know that’s not entirely accurate. Some things are set in stone, it’s true, others not so much.” 

“And this is one of them? I didn’t realise my love life would be that important.” And he was certainly not happy with that thought.

“Oh,” Shinou dramatically gestured with his hands. “I didn’t say it was important. Though I’m interested to see you think that. _Love_ life, is it?” Shinou gave him a smug smile.

Murata sighed. He wasn’t going to be goaded. Now that he was a little older and less influenced by the hormones of adolescence, he found that Shinou’s games didn’t bother him half as much. “Can I ask a favour?”

“You can always ask me anything, _my_ Sage. Whether I can help you is another matter.”

He ignored that last bit. “Promise me to stop interfering in Wolfram von Bielefeld’s fate.”

“Of course,” Shinou said quickly. _Too_ quickly. 

“And that includes you possessing him. _Ever_ again.”

Shinou placed his hand on his heart. “I swear I won’t possess your beloved pretty blond. Is that convincing enough?” 

Murata narrowed his eyes. He guessed it would have to do.

“Besides,” Shinou added mysteriously, Murata wasn’t so fond of any mysteries that involved Shinou. “His fate is off-limits. His destiny is for _him_ to decide.”

“The destiny which you _can’t_ see?” Murata asked sceptically.

“As I said...not everything is set in stone.”

“Right...” Murata replied. Was there any point in even asking?

Shinou hopped off the table and then walked around behind him. He thought he could feel a hand brush through his hair, and then Shinou’s voice came to him in a whisper.  
“Just do what makes you happy, my Sage.”

And in a blink, Shinou’s presence disappeared.

~***~

Wolfram enjoyed dancing, very much so. Unfortunately, he didn’t enjoy socialising at balls, and rarely liked the people who wanted to dance with him.

They often expected much more than a dance. Wolfram had worked that out long ago and had developed an unpleasant aura at balls, an effective way of keeping most everyone away from him. Well, apart from Elizabeth, whom he really didn’t mind dancing with, or Julia when he was much younger. 

It took a while before Mother had taken the hint and stopped encouraging young men and women to ask him for a dance. A long while.

He had grown to enjoy dancing with Yuuri. At first, the wimp was a klutz, always stepping on his feet and having little regard for the tempo, but eventually he’d improved well enough. Well enough for Wolfram to enjoy dancing, letting go and enjoying the music, the pure joy of movement. 

He believed that Yuuri had enjoyed it too, despite his protests. At least a little bit.

He didn’t expect he’d ever dance again, after that day. 

But here he was, dancing with the Sage, and despite everything, reluctantly, almost...enjoying it.

It wasn’t anything like dancing with the king. And for that, Wolfram was glad. It was enough that Murata had the same black hair, similar black eyes. Murata being different, in temperament and in dancing well...it helped.

He didn’t want to remember.

Murata danced lightly, relaxed. Not perfect, no, but with the lightness of someone who was truly having fun.

And he looked at Wolfram like he was happy to have him there, him alone to dance with. He never felt that way with- Wolfram cut off that dangerous sliver of thought.

Murata leaned in close, making Wolfram flush. 

“I’m glad you accepted this dance.” 

“Well,” Wolfram said averting his eyes. That happy look that was directed at him was too much. “It was the polite thing to do.”

“Well, I’m glad for your politeness,” Murata returned in a beat, and Wolfram glanced to see a silly smirk on his face.

Wolfram had to fight to stop his lips from curving up. The Sage was truly odd.

Fortunately, for Wolfram’s peace of mind, Murata didn’t speak further, and he focused on the flow of the dance. The gentle warmth of someone’s hand on his waist and simplicity of movement. 

Well at least Wolfram knew how to follow in a waltz. Murata’s movement was much easier for him to read. Almost effortless compared to the times he partnered up with Yuuri.

Wolfram closed his eyes for a moment. Would everything make him think of Yuuri? Would it have been wiser to stay in Bielefeld and never return? 

The music came to an end. Murata smiled at him. Before he could decide if he’d take the third dance (which would surely get the tongues wagging, bad enough to have two dances), the chime of a bell from the royal podium brought his notice. Alongside him were whispers of expectation and gossip.

Slyly, hidden by how close they were, he felt Murata’s hand in his. Wolfram allowed it.

  


“Do you think Lady Claudia has bagged herself the king,” one lady said to another. 

“Doubtless. He’s been favouring her for months.”

A icy cold stone fell to the bottom of his stomach, and Wolfram schooled his face into indifference.

He didn’t pay much attention to the words as Günter’s dulcet voice rang out in flourish prose that for once suited the setting and the announcement. 

There was applause, and the hand that he’d forgotten about squeezed gently. Wolfram turned to see Murata’s regard.

“I’m going to retire,” Wolfram said evenly.

He pulled his hand away, but Murata held it fast.

“I’ll come with you, escort you to your floor,” Murata said quietly.

“No...people will think...” He trailed off swallowing. He faked a small polite smile for the benefit of the audience he was sure he was getting right now. Some of those watchers would pity him, others would gloat, and others would think...would think...he and Murata...

“They will think many things anyway. They always do,” Murata pointed out in scathing tone and then gently, “Let them think what they will. Does it really matter when all's said and done? After all the hardship we’ve faced and overcome for Shibuya and Shin Makoku, this is nothing.” 

Wolfram shook his head. “No....” Murata spoke the truth. He’d never been well-liked or popular, and he didn’t really want to be, not with people he barely knew and who meant little to him. 

He let Murata lead him through the crowd, and he focused on the warmth of his hand and not the heaviness in his heart or the many eyes he could feel on him.

When he got out to the hall, only occupied by a pair of guards, he inhaled a lungful of air and let Murata pull him into a small alcove for a moment.

He didn’t say anything, and Murata didn’t push.

“I should be going back now. I’ll be fine by myself from here on.” He finally pulled his hand away from Murata’s. “Thank you,” he said and turned and walked down the hallway.

Murata didn’t follow him.

~***~

When Wolfram got back to his room, he flung himself down on the bed again and looked up at the ceiling blankly.

He closed his eyes, willing them not to leak. Why was he still so pathetic?

~***~

“I love you,” he’d said, voice breaking; his fingers were digging into the blanket beneath him.

Why couldn’t Yuuri _understand_? There was nothing he wouldn’t do, _nothing_. Did the last few years of working beside him, shielding him, training so hard to support Yuuri in this partnership stand for naught?

“Wolf...” Yuuri was on the other side of the room, looking out the window. “I just...this can’t go on.”

“Wimp,” he spat out the word and got up. “It’s taken you this long to tell me?” It gave him hope, hope he’d tried to quench because...well...he supposed he knew. But it was Yuuri’s fault that he’d kept that tiny piece of hope in his heart against all common sense. 

Yuuri turned to him, a frown on his face. “It’s not like I ever led you on. I told you, Wolf. I told you I didn’t like men...not like that.”

“But you let me sleep here? You would even come seek me out if I wasn’t around.”

Yuuri looked uncomfortable. “Because you kept whining all the time, if I wouldn’t let you. Then it became a habit, but...I only treated you like a friend.”

“ _Except_ for that kiss!” Wolfram voice rose. It had only been a couple of weeks ago. “Is that what friends do on Earth? You kiss the Great Sage as well?” 

“I was drunk...and.... That’s _not_ fair. You look...” Yuuri gestured to him. “You look...like _that_ , and I was drunk,” Yuuri repeated. “It wasn’t meant to be anything serious. You never mentioned it after.”

No, Wolfram hadn’t. Maybe he should have. Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped Yuuri that night, let it go further, then there could be no denial. But...that wasn’t Wolfram’s way. He had been waiting for Yuuri to come to him, freely, and sober. He’d been waiting so patiently. He’d thought...he’d thought that the kiss would be the beginning.

“I love you,” he repeated again, strained and low. But that was more for himself. He could see that Yuuri wasn’t going to change his mind. 

“I know and...I’m sorry. For so long I didn’t believe it, that you loved me that way. I just thought you were being stubborn…, but this can’t happen. We’re older now. I think you need to find someone who can give you what you want.”

“And you can find that girl you want. Right?” Wolfram added snidely. “You can be free to flirt all you want.” 

“It’s not like that.” Yuuri sighed. “You never could see. I wanted...I want to be normal and-“

“This is _normal_ here in this kingdom, Yuuri. We are normal.” Wolfram said, hands clenched.

“But not...not for me. I’m sorry.”

“It will be a very long time before I can accept your apology,” Wolfram muttered as he walked across to the door. “I’ll have the maids remove my personal items.” 

“Wolf...”

Wolfram hesitated, his hand on the door knob. 

Yuuri’s voice was strained. “I do...care about you. We’ll remain friends, right?”

“I don’t know.”

He opened the door and walked away.

~***~

Wolfram woke up crying, stiff and cold on the bedspread, boots and his stiff, formal clothing still on.

He took his clothes off carefully and changed into a plain white nightgown (not pink, never again).

He curled up under the blankets. After a moment, he pulled the twin pillow down and wrapped his arms around it, like it was a child’s moppet. Nobody was around to frown at him for being childish.

This time his sleep was dreamless.

~***~

In the rooms one floor up – on the wing opposite to the king’s – the Sage woke suddenly.

He couldn’t remember the details of his dream. Sometimes he didn’t, and he was thankful for it. He touched his face, and it was wet.

He closed his eyes again. After a few minutes he felt a hand on his hair again. He said nothing as he let the stroking calm him, lulling him into sleep.

It was rare and something he did not encourage. A moment unspoken. Murata could not find the will to stop it when it was dark and he felt so small and so very alone.

~***~

Murata gave Wolfram some space for a few weeks. In part, it was because his duties had become hectic; the social season always brought with it an abundance of scheming and diplomatic negotiating in equal measures, and that always meant investigation, meetings, and paperwork.

But partly it was to give Bielefeld time to deal with Shibuya’s engagement to Lady Claudia – Murata knew it was going to be a hard blow for Wolfram, but not as much as it had been, the soldier had practically fallen apart in the hallway outside the ballroom.

And he knew that Shibuya had given Bielefeld notice. Or at least that’s what Yozak had told him, so Wolfram had had time to prepare himself. 

Perhaps it was unfair to push too hard too fast. Maybe he should wait longer. Maybe he shouldn’t-

“I hope it’s not ill-mannered to say that you look tired, Your Eminence.”

Murata gave Lady Claudia a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid you are right, my Lady.” He took a sip of tea. “I had a late night going through trade reports.”

“Oh,” Claudia said politely, though he could tell that she wasn’t that interested. To be fair, it wasn’t _that_ interesting. “You work so very hard. Yuuri does appreciate it.” 

He doubted that Shibuya put much thought into what he did, or even knew the half of it.

He didn’t dislike Lady Claudia von Spitzweg. She was nice, kind and was very suitable for Princess Consort, the sort who would participate little in politics and would offend nobody. She was safe, pretty, and an undemanding partner for Shibuya. Lady Claudia had the large eyes and delicate features of a Spitzweg, a much gentler and younger version of Lady Celi, but with blue eyes instead of green. Some of those physical traits Bielefeld also shared, the hair colour, the facial features – and he knew he wasn’t the only person who noticed. When Shibuya had started favouring the girl over others, tongues wagged that the king replaced his former fiancé with a female doppelganger.

Yet, for those who knew Bielefeld, the similarities were superficial. To Murata, Bielefeld’s green eyes shone with a passion and fervour for life that Lady Claudia lacked. Wolfram was impulsive and hot-tempered; Claudia was nice. Wolfram was full of energy; Claudia was...demure. Wolfram was endlessly fascinating. Claudia was....well, quite frankly Claudia was fairly dull, at least that was Murata’s personal opinion. 

Yet, he didn’t mind having weekly afternoon tea with Lady Claudia. If nothing else it gave him time to go over plans in his head, as conversation with Shibuya’s future wife wasn’t too taxing. Their tea meetings had begun because Yozak suggested he investigate ‘the kid’s new girlfriend’, just in case she was part of a bigger scheme to undermine the kingdom.

No, it didn’t take long for him to work out that Lady Claudia wasn’t the scheming type. “Shibuya works hard as well,” he said to Lady Claudia. “The kingdom has improved considerably since his sovereignty.” 

“I think so too,” Lady Claudia said inanely with a polite smile.

In his head, Murata returned to the quandary of Wolfram. Now what should he do next?

~***~

Wolfram couldn’t believe he was stuck in the same exact situation, left alone with the insufferable wimp again after a meeting.

“I saw that you were dancing with Murata,” the king said tentatively.

“How observant,” he said curtly. Wolfram didn’t really want to talk about this to Yuuri, of all people.

“Well,” Yuuri made an annoying little laugh. “I overheard some of Claudia’s friends talking about it. I was so nervous you know, that night. I can’t remember most of it.”

“People talk about all kinds of things,” Wolfram replied frostily. Hopefully, Yuuri would take the hint. 

No such luck. Of course not, since when had anything he hoped for happen, even the small things, especially the small things. 

“You know, Murata, he’s a nice guy and a great friend, but he’s not really the dating type.”

“The dating type?” Wolfram asked, confused and annoyed.

“You know...” Yuuri twirled his fingers.

“No. I don’t know, Yuuri. Can’t you try to talk more plainly?” He should have asked that years ago, been far blunter. Would have saved him a lot of heartbreak.

“You called me Yuuri!” The idiot beamed at him. 

It hurt a little to see him like that. Wolfram wanted to strangle him, slowly.

“Yuuri,” Wolfram practically growled. “What. Do. You. Mean?”

“Oh just. Well, Murata is kinda casual you know?” Wolfram didn’t know at all, and Yuuri must have seen that in his face. “I doubt he’s into marriage or anything like that. I just thought you’d want to know. He flirts, but he doesn’t mean it. I just don’t want you to...to get the wrong idea.”

“I’m not stupid, Yuuri,” Wolfram said with a sigh and looked out the window. In the pagoda that he’d had afternoon tea a couple of weeks ago was Murata and Lady Claudia. 

Wolfram frowned.

“Oh,” Yuuri came up behind him. “Murata has afternoon tea with Claudia every week. I’m glad.”

“You’re _glad_?” Wolfram asked. “After you said he’s a flirt.”

“Well...he’s not like _that_ with Claudia, and...well, he was the first one to be nice to her. I think she was lonely.”

Lonely. Wolfram put his hand on the pane and frowned as Murata laughed at something Claudia said. 

Lonely. He doubted she knew what true loneliness was. 

He turned away. He had better things to do than to dwell on Murata and Yuuri’s fiancée.

~***~

That night, a few hours before dinner, an invitation was sent to him to lunch with the Great Sage the next day.

It was written with beautiful flowing calligraphy in formal prose on cream paper. He held it gently. He was envious of the way the Sage could write. Wolfram was certain he’d got it correct in the first draft; in many a meeting he’d seen him write easily.

The prose was old-fashioned, yet perfectly suitable for an invitation in the early stages of courting, not too familiar and yet engaging enough to express the affection appropriate.

He’d not gotten a letter like this for a long time. Before Yuuri, he had had many young men and a few young women come forward to court him. He was son of the Queen and through blood had connections to three of the major houses. He knew he was quite an attractive marriage prospect. He’d turned them all down of course. Nobody had held his attention for long enough. 

And now, he thumbed the black wax of the crest, now he was seen as tainted – the king had rejected him, and this was the first invitation he’d had since, possibly the only one he’d get in a long while.

Not that he cared. He’d not wanted that attention back then, he didn’t want it now. Not in the way that mazoku dealt with the business of love and romance.

He was about to cast it into the fireplace...but hesitated. The paper was beautiful, expensive, and the lettering...well. It would be a shame to burn it. 

He looked at it again in the light of the fireplace. The colour of the paper was...just like the Sage’s skin, a light cream. Unlike Yuuri’s who was darker from all that time in the sun, a very un-mazoku peculiarity – Yuuri had often complained about how Wolfram didn’t get burnt by the sun. It was only humans who did. 

Not a problem with the Sage. He didn’t spend much time in the sun, and the lighter colour was a fine contrast with his dark eyes and black hair.

His mind wandered for a moment, and an image came to mind, of touching the Sage’s skin, of brushing his knuckles along that cheek....of-

The letter in his hand burst into flames, and he threw it into the fireplace and watched it burn, the black seal bubbling and the paper curling into black ash. 

He wished his body was cold as his manner was at balls and public events, but he was too much like his mother. He craved the touch of another. He was a young mazoku and was just starting to grow into full maturity...leaving him insistent urges that never let up. The bittersweet benefit of being single was now that he was alone, he could touch himself in bed, could find release.

But after, he was still alone. 

He hugged himself tighter, his stupid body betraying him. Sometimes, he wished he could be like his mother; disconnect his heart from this instinctive carnal desire. He touched his lips, if he could do that, if he could, then he would take the Sage on as his lover, would indulge his body. The Sage would be a pleasing lover, he was sure of it.

But he could not, would not. 

He’d wanted Yuuri because he knew, as much as he called him a cheater, deep down, that if Yuuri would see him, would accept him, would love him, that he’d be the absolute centre of the king’s loyalty.

Yuuri wasn’t fickle with his affections. He’d just not chosen Wolfram.

He balled his fingers into a fist. The Sage was attractive in so many ways, yet Wolfram could not trust him with his heart.

~***~

He dropped the weekly squad reports off to Brother just before dinner. Günter was there at the adjacent desk, buried in paper as he helped Brother deal with the quarterly armament review for budgeting. It wasn’t the most exciting of jobs, and Wolfram was thankful he avoided much paperwork as Captain of a small squad.

“Thank you,” Gwendal said roughly as he left. “Oh, one word.” Brother put his quill down and gave him a suddenly awkward look.

“Yes, Brother?”

His brother clasped his hands tightly and cleared his throat. “I noticed that you had a couple of dances with the Sage at the ball. Is there anything I should know?”

There was a high-pitched snort from behind the pile of papers on the other desk. “Unlikely, His Eminence is too refined to set his sights on the selfish brat,” Günter muttered loudly.

Gwendal’s frown deepened, and Wolfram folded his arms, willing himself to not snarl an insult at Brother’s assistant or set the documents on fire.

He considered it quite an achievement that he managed to do neither. Good for him! Nobody else would praise his self-control.

“Of course, Brother,” Wolfram replied through clenched teeth. “If there is anything I think would impact on my performance or the king’s standing, I will let you know, and you _alone_ ,” he emphasised for the ignorant twit behind the papers.

Anything thing else was none of Brother’s business, was _nobody’s_ business.

“Very well,” Gwendal said, looking relieved and made a gesture of dismissal.

Wolfram stalked out, it was half-way down the hall when Günter’s words came back to him. 

_‘his Eminence is too refined to set his sights on the selfish brat’_

Selfish, maybe, if that meant wanting to live his life as he wanted, free of any social obligation other than to serve the kingdom and his house, then he would bear such an insult proudly. And he didn’t care for refinement (whatever Günter _meant_ by that). It was the Sage himself who had set his attentions on him. 

Günter may drool over the double-blacks like some pushy courtesan at their first ball, but he’d never had anything to show for it.

Wolfram smiled smugly. “ _Fine_ ,” he sent the thought to the lavender twit. _“I’ll show you refinement.”_

As for his heart, well, he’d guard it well. He need only prove one point and be done.

He sent a letter of acceptance first thing the next morning.

~***~

Wolfram didn’t know how he’d got in this position. No. He did know; he’d be an idiot for not knowing himself after all these years. It was his pride. The need to prove to people like Günter that he was worthy of the Sage’s attention, and perhaps just a little bit of curiosity as to where this would lead, he couldn’t deny it was a little fun.

With many eyes on them both, he moved across the room in their third dance in a row, Murata’s gleaming eyes looking at him delight, a tiny smile on his face. It was both embarrassing and flattering. 

There was no hiding that the Great Sage was courting him now. Even if it wasn’t obvious that the Sage had favoured him exclusively in two consecutive balls of the social season he’d attended, there was the gift he wore. 

As the music came to an end, he resisted the urge to touch the gift that was presented to him before the ball at twilight. A cravat chain. Three delicate silver chains attached to a smooth silver moonstone set in a filigreed silver clasp.

Moonstone was long seen as the unofficial sign of the Great Sage. In many of the great art depicting the original Sage, the moon was featured, and the Great One the sun.

A beautiful and tasteful gift, and the symbolism would be lost on no-one. For not only was the gem an obvious reference to the Sage, but it also symbolised love – adoring love. 

When Murata had offered it to him before the ball, he should have rejected it, rejected Murata’s advances, but it was a costly gift, and the Great Sage had favoured nobody else in that way before. It was silly, but a large part of why he’d accepted was to see the look on Günter’s face when he realised what he wore and what that meant.

And Günter’s face, twisted in shock before giving him a resentful look (one he was quite familiar with after years of the same looks from when he was with Yuuri), did give him a moment of smug satisfaction.

Petty....so _petty._

“That gem suits you,” Murata said with a smile.

Wolfram touched the smooth gem briefly. It was cool to the touch. “It’s beautiful.” 

“That’s why it suits you.” 

Wolfram’s face warmed up, and he followed Murata, keeping his voice down so others could not listen in. “Are you always this frank?”

“With you, yes. I know you value truthfulness.”

As they walked past his brother and the chancellor’s assistant, Günter made a slight huff, and Wolfram couldn’t suppress a smug smile. He turned to see Murata look at him, a shrewd look in his eyes.

“I...” Wolfram said, feeling as if he had to defend himself.

“I know why you accepted my suit,” Murata said with a small smile.

“It...wasn’t...” He suddenly felt terrible. 

“I don’t mind. It’s given us time to get to know each other.”

They paused against the wall, the one with the tapestry of one of Wolfram’s ancestors in the Great River battle.

“I’m sorry it’s just, Günter is...he’s...” He trailed off knowing whatever came out of his mouth would be awful.

“He’s a man who is a little in love with the king and jealous that you once got that close. It’s not a favourable trait, but we all have our foibles.” Murata gave him a significant look.

Wolfram looked away. “So what is _yours_?”

Murata laughed. “Isn’t it too early for us to be discussing faults?”

“You are the one who brought it up, and you said you valued truthfulness?”

Murata nodded. “Maybe I can be a little proud, and stubborn.”

“Those aren’t necessarily bad things,” Wolfram said, looking out over the crowd before returning his gaze. 

Murata smiled. “No, in some circumstances they are positive traits.” The Sage seemed to hesitate before adding, “I’m also somewhat manipulative.”

“I noticed,” Wolfram said dryly, then asked softly, “Are you manipulating me now?” He thought he’d get denial or some sarcastic remark. 

The answer surprised him.

“I ...don’t know,” Murata said with a hint of sadness. The Sage pushed his glasses up. “It’s become such a habit it’s hard to tell. But I’m trying to be honest with you.”

Wolfram considered those words and then nodded. He pointed to the balcony; a couple were making their way in, and it was empty. “Come out onto the balcony?” 

There was no moon when they came out, only stars. Wolfram leaned on the railings for a moment and then turned to face the Sage. “You said you wanted to marry me, that day a few weeks ago?” 

Murata nodded. “Yes.”

  


“I cannot promise you that will happen,” Wolfram said. “I can’t promise you anything. I am pleased with the gift, but if you are doing this only because you want to be my lover...or more, then I would give it back to you tonight and end things here.”

Murata tilted his head and then said after a moment. “Then can you promise me this as I court you? To not rule those possibilities out, to consider it further in time.”

“In time? How long are you willing to wait?” Wolfram asked doubtfully.

“I’m in no rush. I am willing to wait for as long as you want. And, in the meantime, I want us to enjoy each other’s company. Can you promise that, Wolfram von Bielefeld? Can you promise that you will consider those possibilities?”

Wolfram looked at Murata’s face; there was a hopeful expression there, seemingly fragile and delicate. One that Wolfram could destroy with one word. But he didn’t want to.

“I can promise that.”

Murata’s smile grew wide “Good...” The orchestra started a merry tune. Murata put his arm out. “They are playing the Red Rose Waltz? Let’s go dance.”

It didn’t occur to him until later that he’d spent the last hour without once thinking of Yuuri.

~***~

The next two months of the season was a whirlwind of balls, tea parties, garden walks, and dinners. And through it all, Wolfram had to admit, in spite of his mixed feelings, he’d never had as much fun.

Murata kept heaping gifts on him, blue diamond cufflinks, a dagger encrusted with gems, a rare book of ancient battles – words engraved with beautiful illustrations – all things that he loved. Though none of them he liked as much as the first gift. The moonstone cravat chain was easily his favourite, and he often wore it at balls.

But more than the moonstone gem, it was the attention he enjoyed the most. The conversations he shared – the intense regard. In social (and private) appointments Murata’s eyes were often on him, black eyes which held so many secrets and yet were often amused, filled with affection...or sometimes he’d catch Murata gazing at him with sweet melancholy. What was Murata thinking of then? He probably reminded him of Shinou. People often said that he resembled him, and more so as he got older. 

He pushed those thoughts away for later. It wasn’t as if this was serious after all. Just fun. Soon enough Murata would grow tired of this, and it would all end.

Not that Murata acted as if he was tiring anytime soon.

Going against his reputation, Murata eyes did not wander, and that more than anything made it harder for Wolfram to resist his charms. The whole time he was with Yuuri, he always worried that his fiancé would not stay true. Yuuri’s eyes were seldom on him and while he was sure that Yuuri cared, he was rarely at the centre of his attention, the way he felt he was with the Sage.

But Wolfram wasn’t going to think about that. He would let the social season come to an end, and when it was time to take up his duties, he would think about things further. Until then, he would enjoy himself without guilt that he was giving the Sage any further expectations…

~***~

“Conrad says that you’re courting Wolfram,” Shibuya said as they caught up for lunch.

“Hmmm...” Murata answered hazily, not wanting to discuss this with his friend but having a sinking feeling it would be hard to avoid without being rude. Not that he had any problem with that, but dealing with Shibuya’s hurt feeling and puppy eyed looks would be very annoying. Life was too good at the moment to add that worry, most especially how it would make Wolfram feel.

“I spoke to Wolf...a while back, and told him you weren’t the type to be interested in marriage.”

Murata gave Shibuya a cool look and said, his voice sounding brittle even to himself, “Did you now?”

Shibuya looked away, looking guilty and then shrugged. “Come on, Murata, you’ve always been a bit casual with girls, and you know… I never thought relationships was your thing. And...if it’s the same with Wolf, you have to stop. I don’t want him to get hurt.” 

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Murata replied crisply. Shibuya eyes widened and then he looked away guiltily. Murata instantly regretted his words. He had his own thoughts on the matter, but it would accomplish nothing now to hurl them against Shibuya. Besides, he couldn’t entirely regret the events that brought Wolfram to him.

Shibuya closed his eyes for a moment and then looked back at him and said softly, “I’m sorry about that. I truly am, but...but can’t you see that’s why it’s even more important?” Yuuri’s voice rose. “Wolf deserves more, and if you’re going to continue I want you to promise me that you’re not just looking for casual fun. And if you are...well, you have to end it. _Find_ someone else.”

“Is that all that you have to say?” Murata said after a moment. He leaned his chin on clasped hands. It was a technique of his, to keep himself calm, to focus his mind.

“Yes, and do you understand, Murata?” Shibuya pierced him with a hard look.

“I understand.” He leaned back, pausing, mentally searching for the right words. “What happens between me and Lord von Bielefeld is _private_.” He put emphasis on the last word. “But please be certain that whatever happens next is entirely up to Bielefeld.”

“So if Wolf wants marriage...” Yuuri said earnestly.

“Then that’s what he’ll get,” Murata said with finality. “And that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

~***~

Two days before his planned annual patrol north found Wolfram in a picnic with the Sage in the hilly woods behind the temple.

He’d still not decided what he wanted to do. Whether he should permit the courtship to continue laid heavily on his mind the last few days.

It was almost the height of summer, and the small leafy glade they were in featured a small clear stream, no doubt one of the many tributaries which eventually fed into the temple’s spring. Wolfram had never been here before. The hills behind the main shrine were Shinou’s territory, considered sacred and only visited by the shrine maidens and guests of the Sage.

It was beautiful.

He laid back against the woven blanket they had brought along, stuffed full of his favourite cheeses with breadsticks, followed by cake and some watered-down wine, and drowsily watched the sunlight through the leaves of the old oak they were under. The sound of water burbling away close by made it even more relaxing.

In the clear blue sky he could see the moon; it was full and ethereal in the sky.

He knew that Earth had a moon. He’d once seen it in Switzerland at night, though it wasn’t as bright.

“Can the moon on Earth be seen during the day?” he asked lazily.

“Yes, on a clear day. Though it’s not as noticeable. Your moon is a little closer to your planet so it appears much bigger. I should read more about the recent findings on astronomy to see the latest theories,” Murata added softly.

“We were taught astronomy in the academy,” Wolfram said. He reached his hand up; the moon looked so close – it was almost like he could touch it. “But I admit I don’t remember much. It wasn’t my favourite subject.”

“Let me guess,” Murata got up on his hands and peered down at him with an amused look. “Your favourite was horsemanship and martial arts.”

“My best subject was military history and elemental combat. But yes, I enjoyed horsemanship and sword fighting the most.” He gave Murata a small smile.

Murata leaned on his elbow next to him. “Did you enjoy the Academy? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention it.”

“It…was a privilege to attend,” Wolfram said carefully. “I appreciated the training.”

“It didn’t sound like you enjoyed it much.”

Wolfram closed his eyes. There was a lot about that period he didn’t like; some days had been awful. Looking back he was amazed he’d managed all six years without quitting. “It was difficult. A lot of the teachers had come back from the war, they had strong feelings about Mother’s leadership.”

Some of them weren’t backward in taking those feelings out on Wolfram.

“I see,” Murata said neutrally. “It sounds like an interesting time.”

“It was,” Wolfram replied. “One day I’ll tell you more. But today is too beautiful for such serious conversation.”

Wolfram was grateful that Murata dropped the topic. He might have snoozed for bit.

 

“How long will you be away?” Murata’s soft voice came to him from above.

He turned his head. Murata had taken off his glasses, a rare sight for Wolfram, and was propped by one elbow looking down at him. His eyes were so very dark.

Wolfram reached his hand up; he had meant to point to Murata’s eyes and ask how many fingers he could see, in jest, but his hand was grabbed by long fingers. Murata rubbed his cheek against them and trapped them there against the warmth with his hand. The question died on his lips.

The moment froze. There had been touches here and there other than the dances. A hand on the small of his back, a brush of lips against his cheek when greeting him – and the unnecessary drag of knuckles across his throat as Murata had adjusted his cravat once. 

But nothing further. For all that the Sage had a lecherous reputation, Murata had been very considerate and slow with the courting. Sometimes, Wolfram’s traitorous body had thought ‘ _too_ slow’. Those little touches had only fed the flames of his desire, a sweet torture – and he knew, oh he knew very well from the look in Murata’s eyes that that desire was returned. 

He suspected that the Sage was waiting for him. He didn’t know how that made him feel or what he should do about it. 

Wolfram pulled his hand away and sat up. His face felt hot, and he looked over to the burbling brook.

“Two months, give or take a week dependent upon the weather.”

“I will miss you,” Murata said with intensity.

Wolfram turned his head to find Murata’s eyes on him. He felt like Murata never stopped watching him. _I don’t think he’ll ever stop._ It was that strangely reassuring thought that had his hand up again touching Murata’s cheek, and he looked into those dark eyes.

He didn’t know who initiated the kiss. It didn’t really matter as their lips met for the first time. Innocent, a light touch before Murata made a small noise and pushed forward, lips rough, and it ignited that fire within him further.

  


Wolfram had only kissed like this once before, and that experience was something he had tried his best to forget. Otherwise, he had no experience, but it mattered little as his body took over and his mind shut down, allowing him to take what he wanted and craved so badly. 

He felt a hand on the nape of his neck pulling him down as they continued kissing, falling almost atop Murata, who was now flat on his back on the blanket, the hand tightening, pressing him down, encouraging him. It was so good. He wanted more.

He slid his fingers under Murata’s loose summer shirt, wanting to feel skin there...and oh – the thrum of Murata’s heartbeat almost drove him wild. It only took him a moment to decide that he wanted to feel that thrum with his lips and tongue and another moment to pull back. He ignored Murata’s groan of disappointment as he latched his mouth on the throat instead, to taste that delectable skin, and it was extremely satisfying when Murata’s head dropped back, allowing him full access. Fingers frantically brushed through his hair, encouraging him, not that he needed any at this stage. 

There was a loud series of coughs in the background, and Murata pushed him back. And Wolfram’s sat up awkwardly.

“Apologies for interrupting,” was Yozak’s annoyingly even drawl, and Wolfram couldn’t even bring himself to meet the spy’s eyes. He resisted the urge to pat his hair down.

“What is it?” Murata asked icily. 

“I have a message. It’s for his Lordship. Your daughter Greta has arrived at the castle. I thought you might want to know straight away, seeing as you’re scheduled to leave in two days.”

~***~

Wolfram was delighted to see Greta. It was a wonderful surprise. She had managed to come home early to see him before his patrol; he wouldn’t have seen her until just before winter otherwise.

And Yuuri, who rarely left the capital for long these days, had been gracious in allowing Greta to spend most of that short time with him.

Needless to say, he saw very little of Murata, and in between time with Greta and planning for the patrol, he found himself wondering about Murata and his feelings.

As he curled up under the blankets the night before the northern patrol, he touched his lips. Yes, he had enjoyed that. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t blame it on hormones or his loneliness. There was just something about the Sage that drew him in, and it wasn’t just his looks. Or more honestly, it wasn’t his looks alone. 

For the first time ever, Wolfram seriously considered a possible future with the Sage. Wolfram wanted the courtship to continue. He wanted Murata. As for feeling, well...he was afraid to trust his heart in this. He had loved Yuuri unreservedly (he doubt he’d ever stop); could he do that with Murata? Would it be necessary?

Before Yuuri, he would have said that it wasn’t. Love was just an invitation for betrayal; he’d seen it enough times with his mother. He had thought that all that was needed for a successful marriage, which for him meant a union of houses, was loyalty and a common goal, most often only for a set number of decades. Not that Wolfram had been interested back then in marriage even under those terms. Before Yuuri, he had intended to pursue a solitary life devoted to his house. To channel his passion into his career. And romantic love? He’d regarded it as a foolish fantasy perpetuated by idle noble playwrights and bards with too much time on their hands and not enough common sense. The type of delusional foolishness that many fell for, including his mother.

Then Yuuri had come along and swept away all his notions, and he’d fallen in love. It had been wonderful and painful. Very painful in the end.

He didn’t want that anymore. But...he had feelings...and they were horrifyingly familiar. That rush of joy and hope when he thought of Murata Ken, when he turned around and saw him looking at him – when they danced...when they talked. Oh he knew that feeling too well.

And add that to his body’s yearnings – it was a fearsome combination. Fighting it seemed almost impossible. 

That feeling terrified him and yet, despite that...he wanted it to continue. Was he just too much like his mother; once he had a taste, he needed to keep coming back, like some terrible addiction?

His mind wandered to the glade. He could still feel the press of lips against his and the pliant warm body below him. Murata’s body had been so welcoming, so delectable.

Wolfram curled up on his side. He would be going on patrol for two months. He’d get the time he needed away from Murata to sort out these feelings. To see if they would last or if it was just a passing fancy. Then he would decide.

~***~

Murata had been honest back then; he would miss Wolfram. Yet he hadn’t realised how intensely true that was.

Only a few days after he’d formally said goodbye to Wolfram, he was already missing him.  
Although the social court season could be both amusing and useful, depending, Murata could not remember it being so enjoyable, and that wasn’t just due to Wolfram’s company.

Now…things seemed so…empty. He suspected he’d feel the same way if the social season was still on; if he was honest with himself, and in this Murata wasn’t willing to be anything but, he’d feel it much more keenly without having Wolfram there next to him as his regular dance partner.

‘Wolfram’, a crucial clue to his thoughts and feelings. He’d stopped referring to him as Bielefeld a while back. Murata was always careful with names. He didn’t mind being referred to as Murata by those close to him, he had about as much attachment to that name as Ken – and Shibuya’s Japanese habit of referring to him in that way had stuck with the rest of Shibuya’s group. Even Wolfram had begun the habit of calling him that.

But, in this world, amongst the nobility, referring to someone by their first name was a sign of intimacy, for family and close friendships and, of course, lovers (though not always that with the latter, he knew Rochford never allowed any of the girls he bedded to refer to him as anything other than ‘Lord’). 

He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped thinking of Wolfram as Lord Bielefeld, which was a little unsettling. He was usually more self-aware.

Then there was the kiss. He couldn’t forget that.

It was most difficult, when he’d said goodbye, to forget that, difficult not to react to the blush that stained Wolfram’s face in the first light of dawn. Other than Greta, he was the only one to say goodbye personally in a courtyard full of Wolfram’s men. Their courtship by now was no secret, so it would not be a surprise to anyone that the Sage was farewelling a comparatively insignificant noble. It was an annual patrol, an ordinary schedule for Wolfram, and his brothers had already said their goodbyes the night before. He supposed if Lady Spitzweg was in the capital, she’d also give her teary farewells, but she was absent. 

She rarely was in the kingdom these days…

Wolfram had given him a faint smile before getting up on his horse, and that tiny knot in his stomach from worrying that he was overstepping boundaries by being there dissolved. At that moment, Murata had wanted nothing more than to pull Wolfram into a tight embrace, kiss him, and tell him to be safe, that he would be missed, that he would wait for him, that he couldn’t wait to hold him again, to kiss him again –to love him. 

Because that’s how it felt, Fates help him. He’d fallen hard. Murata knew love – he had so many memories of it, but memories were a poor shadow to the brightness he felt inside. He was such a cynical person; love constantly took him by surprise.

He didn’t hug or kiss Wolfram or confess feelings. Instead he said so very politely, “Be careful on the palisade track north of Abney; the recent rains have made them more prone to landslides.” Certainly Wolfram would be aware of this, but Murata had to say it anyway, for his peace of mind.

Wolfram had nodded. “I will keep that in mind. Would you bless our journey, Your Eminence?” Of course, they were only courting, and Wolfram was big on formality. He nodded and gave the gesture of Shinou’s blessing. Inside he was hoping that Shinou would stay wholly out of Wolfram’s affairs. Shinou’s meddling helped no-one. 

So it had been a week, barely a week. He was in his office, the one in the castle with the large garish map of Shin Makoku that had been commissioned by Cherie when she was Maou and had somehow made it into his office. He’d never really found the time to get rid of it. Besides, he did need a map. It was inlaid with green mother of pearl and towns set with semi-precious stones. It was almost midday, and at this time, his eyes kept being drawn to it. Particularly to the wilds north of the red gem that represented Abney, Wolfram would be there now, on the track through the Palisades that dominated the area. 

“He’s perfectly fine,” Shinou whispered in his ear, and he jumped, knocking the inkwell. He _just_ managed to save it from falling and ruining the document he had been reviewing for Lord von Voltaire in time. 

“Don’t do that,” he snapped angrily. He was angrier that he hadn’t noticed Shinou’s presence; he had always been good at that before. 

Shinou rounded the table with a flourish of his robe, looking exceedingly smug. Bastard! “You seem to be particularly preoccupied today, my pretty Sage.”

“I’m _not_ yours,” Murata said and then took a deep breath as he saw Shinou raise one eyebrow at him. He beat down the surge of anger, frustration, and worry inside him and took a deep breath. He really should know better by now, but today...today it wasn’t easy to compose himself. Small wonder since he’d not been sleeping so well. 

“I told you not to interfere. Go impress some Shrine Priestess or possess some poor maid or whatever you gods do for excitement these days.”

“But this is _far_ more interesting. And I’m not _interfering_. Haven’t I told you that I cannot with the Bielefeld heir? Unless you count watching, in which case, I can’t help that.” Shinou said that unapologetically. 

“He’s _not_ the Bielefeld heir.” Murata focused on that instead of Shinou’s snark. He gave Shinou a look.

“For now,” Shinou shrugged and then gave him a smirk.

Murata _truly_ didn’t want to know. He took another breath and purposefully continued working, ignoring Shinou.

“So you’re not even a little bit curious at all.”

Murata kept ignoring him. 

“Not worried about your love?”

“I’m more worried about getting this work done,” he lied, not even looking up, not willing to give Shinou any ammunition.

“Oh,” Shinou said in a non-committal way. “Well, at any rate. He’s fine – quite a tedious patrol I must say. I’m sure a pigeon courier will be sent as usual when he reaches the Bielefeld borders.”

“I’m sure,” Murata said through gritted teeth.

Shinou stayed for another ten minutes, his scrutiny prickling at him, but Murata refused to budge.

When his presence disappeared, he exhaled heavily and covered his face. It was pathetic how relieved he’d been at Shinou’s news.

~***~

The next couple of months had the castle ramping up for wedding plans, or as much as they could before winter. Lord von Christ was constantly fluctuating between extreme panic and euphoria. Lord von Voltaire had practically barricaded himself in his office between meetings and parade drills, and Shibuya had developed a permanent stunned expression as Lady Cherie who’d suddenly materialised with a loud bevy of clothes designers had him, Claudia, and even Greta trying on dozens of garments.

Murata kept himself well out of it, apart from occasionally taking pity on Shibuya and dragging him off to important ‘debriefings’. He knew what his role would be at the wedding and had no need to prepare for it, and as much as he could, he had dumped many responsibilities on Lady Ulrike. It wasn’t so much because he didn’t want anything to do with a wedding that he knew would hurt Wolfram (though there was a small piece of himself that felt that way) as much as a general aversion to ostentatious ceremonies.

This wedding wasn’t so much for Shibuya and Lady Claudia as much as it was an excuse for the nobles to socialise and for the kingdom to celebrate. He had no problem with the latter. The citizens of Shin Makoku had gone through tough times in the past, and some type of relief was needed. But personally, he’d rather spend the night reconciling temple accounts. If it wasn’t for Wolfram, he’d try and do just that, as soon as his part was over – but Wolfram would need the support.

The social season had been fun; he didn’t think the wedding come April would be.

“Ouch,” Yozak said loudly. “Careful of the assets, honey.” Yozak was always at his most camp when he was cross-dressing, though that word was almost meaningless in Shin Makoku society.

Murata, surrounded by heavy, lacey fabric was struggling to not only see, but to breathe; he pulled the pin from where he had it lodged in his teeth. “You should have gone to one of Cherie’s designers,” he said flatly. His idea of fun wasn’t on his knees under Yozak’s dress doing last minute repairs on sheer silky suspenders festooned with ribbons.

“If I wanted to waste three hours, then sure. Ow, ow _ow_. You really got to let go of that grudge, darling. I was only saving your sweetheart from embarrassment, _Your Eminence_.” The last said in his usual dry undertone.

Yozak let out an unholy groan as Murata’s hand completely and totally by accident leaned heavily on Yozak’s ‘asset’ to get balance. 

Yozak had a point. It was Shibuya who had come down to collect Wolfram. It was only Yozak’s quick thinking that had prevented the young king from getting an eyeful of him with Wolfram’s tongue down his throat and his hands on- he had to end that line of thinking. Thankfully, that was easy considering his current view. He never really got the appeal of pink rose shaped ribbons.

“There,” he said. With relief pulled himself out and looked up at Yozak who still looked pained. Murata didn’t even feel bad. “Done.”

Yozak sighed, his voice becoming serious. “You know,” Yozak smoothed down his apron. “I’d rather be dressing up like this for fun instead of work.”

“You don’t have to do this, Yozak.” Murata adjusted his glasses.

“No...I do. If it’s not me, it’s one of my staff, and I’m not letting them anywhere near that lech.” ‘That lech’ being Lord von Rochford. 

Yozak pulled himself up tall and said in a sweet demure voice, “A woman’s work is never done.” Yozak blew him a kiss and then departed.

He leaned against the sill and looked out at the courtyard, which was at least an inch underwater from the rain that was bucketing down. “Be safe,” he murmured. And it wasn’t just Yozak he was speaking of.

~***~

He was soaked. After travelling all day, his jacket felt like lead on his back, and his boots and lower pants were coated with mud. Wolfram pulled back locks of his hair that were lying flat in his eyes, leaned down to pet poor Blume, and looked up at the castle in gratitude. Soon there would be a warm bath, clean clothes and food, and a smile...and maybe, just maybe a kiss.

When they hit the corner Blume’s pace picked up; no doubt, she couldn’t wait for a warm, dry stable and food herself.

Wolfram had travelled home on this route what seemed hundreds of times, and never, not even when he was engaged to Yuuri had he felt this excited about returning home.

It solidified his feelings. The thought of being able to have someone to welcome him home each time he went out with his squad, someone who would look at him like he was the most important person in their world. It was a wonderful feeling; how could he turn that down?

He shook his head in annoyance. He was sounding ludicrously maudlin in his thinking. He would have thought that his time with Yuuri would have cured him of that. 

But even so...

“Almost home, Sir,” Michael said, and he could almost feel the collected relief of the men whom he had spent the last couple of months on the road with. He wasn’t the only one looking forward to returning home to someone. 

It would also be a surprise. They were home a week early, having to take the back route due to minor flooding in the northern capital district. And hence, he looked at his boots, the mud. 

When they reached the courtyard, he slid off the horse gratefully, and gave the horse a pat. “I’ll be back in a few moments to rub her down, just make sure to set him up with food and water,” he told the stable boy. 

He took to the servant’s stairs, two steps at a time, only pausing briefly to wipe the worst of the mud caked on his boots on the bottom step. He was still filthy. He should bathe before visiting...but...

When he got to the main hall he turned left, away from the royal suite which he’d called home for years and towards the guest quarters where the Sage had taken up secondary residence in the largest suite. It was barely mid-afternoon; at this time Murata would be doing paperwork in his study.

Guards in the hallway, surprised at the visit of the third son of the former Maou (and ex-fiance of the current one), saluted him as he rushed by. He barely acknowledged them.

When he turned into the large stretch, he slowed down so he could catch his breath. It wouldn’t do to look that eager. He was mostly composed when he got to the main door. The inner chamber was empty, and he turned towards the study, the door half open...and paused as he heard voices. 

The Sage had someone with him. Wolfram frowned, debating on whether he should come back later, settle Blume down in the stable, and have that bath. But he was so close....

The other voice set his mind. It was only Yozak. He squared his shoulders, putting his hand out to open the door wide. Yozak gave a loud yelp of pain. Wolfram, paused, one hand frozen on the door.

‘sweetheart ... ...ment, _Your Eminence_.” 

Wolfram, confused, leaned closer. Yozak groaned loudly. A horrifying suspicion lodged in Wolfram’s heart, but he didn’t dare to recognise it. Because...

He opened the door and stared in shock. Yozak was leaning against the windowsill in a green velvet dress and ....

Without thinking, Wolfram turned away, a few steps and into the main room before leaning heavily against the marble mantelpiece. The world had gone cold, and a well of nausea had risen up, almost choking him.

  


_You should have known. You should have known._ Those words, full of loathing and disdain, kept repeating in his head.

“I should have known,” he whispered out loud. “I’m a fool.” 

He stood up straight; with force of will, he pushed the nausea down, and, as if in a dazed dream, walked out of the Sage’s rooms calmly. He had no plans to return.

~***~


	2. Chapter 2

~***~

The gifts were laid out on Murata’s desk, an admonishment, though he didn’t know what for. Some gleamed in the light of the lamp. He traced his fingers over them all. Everything was polished, clean, looking exactly the way they had when he’d presented them to Wolfram. He picked up the cravat chain carefully from the box and rubbed his thumb over the smooth surface of the moonstone. Wolfram had loved this, or so he said, and he had no reason to doubt it considering he wore it often at the balls.

He put in down carefully and closed the box with a click. There was no letter, nothing. Not that that was needed, the symbolism was obvious – even Shibuya would get it. The courtship was ended, was over with. Wolfram had rejected his advances.

Etiquette dictated he respect this; with not even a letter the rejection was absolute, almost insultingly so. This was no coy ploy for more attention or to negotiate for an engagement endowment. Not that Murata had thought Wolfram capable of such games, anyway.

He sat down heavily on the chair and covered his mouth. A terrible sadness was rising, choking him, and his mouth felt bitter with it. With it came bewilderment. There had been no warning, no indication that Wolfram hadn’t wanted the courtship, quite the opposite in fact. Nothing in the short pigeon couriers had given any sign. He didn’t even know that Wolfram had returned until the servant had delivered this. He hadn’t been due back for a week. 

He got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the strongest whiskey he had and poured a generous amount into a glass. He had to think. He had to do something, but for now he just needed to...just needed to ... _stop_ thinking. 

The whiskey burned but didn’t quite take away the bitterness of sorrow. Where did he go wrong? He knew...he knew, at least at the beginning, that Wolfram had been reluctant. Murata knew that, knew that Wolfram had been scarred by his engagement, knew that he loved Shibuya. He knew that it was very possible that Wolfram wouldn’t love him that much, and he’d made his peace with that, had from the start. But perhaps even just a little bit of love, or even fondness, had been too much for Wolfram.

Maybe he’d pushed too hard, too soon? What if he had waited longer to make his suit?

Regrets already? He was barely twenty years old. 

Murata took another sip and sat down heavily on the study’s divan. Should he even try to regain what they had? But Wolfram had set his boundaries; now he had to respect that. That was the right thing to do...but... Damn, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking... He ripped his glasses off and practically flung them on the side-table.

He looked at the glass. If he kept this up, he’d end up crying, and how pathetic was that? The Great Sage crying over a broken heart. 

He covered his eyes. Where had he gone wrong? 

That was his last coherent thought for quite a while. 

Whether he cried, he didn’t know. Probably. When he woke up, fully clothed, face up on his bed as the sky out the window lightened, he had a bone dry mouth and a killer headache.

Whether or not he wanted to talk to Wolfram soon became moot – it took him half a day before he stopped throwing up, and another half before he could manage to get out of bed.

~***~

For the next two weeks, the Sage did not approach him or send him any type of message. In some ways, it wasn’t that surprising; it would have been difficult for the Sage to talk to him directly in private. He was rarely in the same room as him, and when he was, he was with Yuuri or his brother.

In the last meeting he shared with him, the few glances he gave, the Sage eyes had been downcast as he read documents. 

For the first few days he expected some type of letter, some deceitful plea from the man, but he received nothing. This both relieved and disappointed him. Trying to work out those contradictory feelings only confused him further, so he purposefully avoided thinking about it. He focused on his work, on drills, on practice – deliberately working himself into exhaustion every night.

He only stopped to spend time with Greta, who thankfully did not raise the questions she must have as to why he was avoiding the Sage. No doubt the rumours were spreading fast; he had spent time with the Sage every day before his patrol, and now they were barely in the same part of the castle, never mind in the same room. Not that he’d ever tell anyone about the truth, not even Greta, most especially Greta.

He still had his pride, possibly the only thing left other than his duty. And fortunately, Yozak had disappeared for a covert mission for an uncertain period of time, saving him from any rash actions. 

He’d decided to leave things as is. It hurt, with a pain that was only a little different from Yuuri’s dismissal. Oddly, in some ways it stung even more, another thing he refused to think about. In time, he hoped, he’d take this as a hard life lesson, and he’d be able to forget the last year and forget (thought he’d never forgive) the betrayal. Whether happiness could be found in love or not, it wasn’t for him. The Fates had sent him on another path, and he would not stray from it again. The Sage’s reputation, no doubt, would continue, and it would be a constant reminder for him to keep to it. 

Two weeks later, when the rains finally subsided, he received a letter. It sat on his silver tray in his office, with the black wax imprinted with Shinou’s seal. He reached for it and then paused, his hand hovering.

“I thought you’d forgotten me,” he said to himself. 

He sighed, and then with a flick of his fingers, the letter burst into flames and in moments was reduced to ash.

“I wish you had.” He closed his eyes and then picked up the bell. He knew this would travel the castle in less than a day, but he didn’t care. 

“Yes, my Lord,” one of the maids entered. 

Sangria? Sangrita? He never could remember their names. No matter. He pointed to the plate. “Please return this to the Sage.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide as she regarded the ashen remains of the former letter. “Y...yes my Lord. Err, what do you want me to say if he asks about...the contents?”

Wolfram considered this. Oh, there was so many things he’d like to say. But he kept it simple and polite. He wasn’t a boor. “Tell him...tell him that I’m not interested in any further communication.” 

The maid picked up the plate, curtsied, and left.

He had done the right thing, the sensible thing. But that didn’t make him feel any better. He covered his heart with his hand. It was impossible to imagine anything ever would.

~***~

The fire had blackened the beautiful silver plate, he noticed vaguely.

_Dearest Wolfram,_

_It’s taken me a few days to compose this letter. Perhaps that may surprise you? I am not, as a rule, careless or at a loss with words. But this isn’t a diplomatic request or a blessing to be sent to a noble. I know those words by rote; I’ve had a lifetime, in some cases many lifetimes experience to draw upon._

_But this isn’t diplomacy. This isn’t my vocation. Herein are words to express my feelings, not as the Sage, but as Murata Ken. I’ve found it difficult indeed to find the right words, and to tell you truth, Wolfram – I’ve had so little practice in honesty._

Murata wondered if Wolfram had even read the words? Or had he burnt it straight away. Both possibilities were equally awful, so he gave up that line of thought as fruitless.

_I love you, Wolfram._

_I said those words first– because that is the most important thing I can say to you; it feels like the most important thing in my life, and I do not wish to go to my grave without letting you know my feelings at least once. Remember, I once told you that I’ve spent so much time using words to manipulate that I cannot tell whether I am doing so or not?_

_I do not blame you if you think that of my confession. That I am using those three words as some type of ploy._

_But believe me, I do not say those words to compel you, but only in the hope that if you feel the same, even if only a little bit, that you would reconsider ending our relationship. I believe, had believed that we were good together and that we made each other happy. I do not want to end that happiness without trying._

Murata looked out the window, feeling a bit numb. It was dry now, but he could see clouds in the distance. Maybe it would rain again? It was hard to say; the weather this time of year could be so changeable. 

_I do not know why you have ended the courtship, but I can guess from things you have said and from what I know of you. I hope you can forgive my conjecture, Wolfram. You still care deeply for the king. I know you love him still. You do not wish to be hurt again, and you are afraid that I too, will betray your feelings, that in time, if you come to care you will be hurt again. Please be aware, Wolfram, that I have no desire to force you into anything._

_I am willing to accept any feeling you have, whether it be friendship or more. I told you months ago I am willing to wait. I am willing to wait a lifetime if you want. I do not expect instant trust. I am in no hurry, Wolfram, as long as I can be by your side. I am willing to wait forever._

_With that sentiment in mind, if you have feeling for me at all, please come and see me so we can talk._

_If you do not and wish to end this permanently, I will, with sadness also accept your decision and will respect it._

_Yours,_

_Murata_

Murata picked up the silver plate and emptied the contents into the waste bin.

~***~

Elizabeth came to the castle as soon as winter had thawed enough that travel between the provinces were possible.

She was also the first person to bring it up with him as they had dinner. Which showed just how well and widespread rumours travelled.

“Where did you get that information?” He answered her blunt question with another one, not willing to talk to anyone about this, even Elizabeth.

She cocked her head and gave him a small smile. Her manner could sometimes infuriate him, but he knew better now than to show it...or at least try his best.

“Everyone knows, Wolfram.” She waved her hand around and gave him a look of pity. He didn’t like that at all.

  


“They know nothing,” he snipped back. He plunged his fork into the chicken and ate it, wanting this conversation to come an end.

Nobody else had raised it over the winter. Murata had spent most of the time in the Temple, so he’d had had no contact since he’d burnt his letter, not that Murata would have had a choice once the snows had come – the only path to the main temple was usually cut off for a month or so every year, and this year had been no different. Yozak had still not returned. And as for his brothers, well Brother had scowled more than usual when addressing him, but thankfully, he’d not say anything as long as he comported himself well. Conrad had given him sad looks and Yuuri...well, he doubt Yuuri knew a thing, so caught up was he in Claudia and their wedding.

Which suited Wolfram just fine, he didn’t need Yuuri’s pitying eyes and kindness.

“You should try to reconcile with him, Wolfram. You’re far too obstinate for your own good. I’m sure if you talk to him you could sort everything out.” 

“There can be no reconciliation in this.” He said quickly, saying way too much against his own judgment. “And it’s not _my_ obstinacy that was the problem.”

“So why did you break off the courtship? He seems to have a steady nature. To be honest, I was a little jealous.”

Wolfram bit back a laugh of scorn.

“There is nothing to be jealous of, and he’s far from steady.” He stabbed another piece of chicken and started munching it, hoping that Elizabeth would drop the issue.

“Oh?” Elizabeth said, watching him keenly. “I heard he was wild when younger, but then weren’t we all?”

Wolfram huffed in scorn. ‘ _All’_ , wasn’t him. He’d never been ‘wild’. 

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “I suppose it’s a touchy subject. But you know, Brother, misunderstandings can happen. And sometimes you can be a _little_ paranoid.”

The image of the Sage under Yozak’s dress came to him, clear in his mind as the day he saw it. He took the glass of wine and gulped it.

“How long will you be in the castle?” He asked, forcing his tone to be casual, conversational.

Elizabeth gave him a short smile, and thankfully this once followed his lead. 

“Until the end of the next social season. Father has allowed me to go work in the human lands if I do this one thing. So I’ll be the _obedient_ daughter for a season. He hopes that I’ll fall in love and choose to stay. I guess it’s possible.” She said it as if it was anything but.

“You won’t be able to use your element in the human lands,” Wolfram said as a warning. Elizabeth was quite formidable with fire – but she wouldn’t be able to rely on that in human territory, and as far as he knew, she’d not been out of the kingdom.

“I know _that_. Which is why I’ve been practising the sword. Oh, that reminds me, Brother – I would like to spend time practising with you over the winter in the fencing hall.”

“Very well.” 

Elizabeth beamed; she actually looked quite beautiful when like this. “You know, Wolfram, maybe you should consider coming with me.”

“To the human territories?” His asked, surprised.

“Why not? It’s not like you have anything keeping you here.” She waved her hands around. “Well, now that you’re single.” She gave him a knowing smirk.

“I have my squad.” He ignored her last sentence.

“Tosh. Sir Michael would be able to take over in a blink; he’s capable enough. You only need come with for a season or two? We’d have so much fun!”

More like they would kill each other. But strangely enough, he didn’t find the idea that unpleasant. Maybe a break from Shin Makoku for a year or so would help shake his melancholia.

~***~

“You’re just going to give up,” Shinou said flatly as Murata sat, curled up in front of the fireplace at his home in the temple.

Murata frowned. He was just getting into the accounts of a noble from two generations ago of some expedition to the forbidden continent, a welcome escape from his miserable thoughts when Shinou had intruded.

“It’s none of your concern,” Murata said in the most disinterested voice he could muster and kept pretending to read. But the spell had been broken. He wouldn’t be having adventures with Lord Roderick and his ship journey through the southern passage tonight. 

“There are still many more things you can do,” Shinou said walking directly in front of Murata.

Murata didn’t ask how Shinou knew – he’d long reconciled himself to the fact, that when it came to his life, Shinou knew everything, bar his thoughts, at least he hoped that Shinou wasn’t a mind-reader; that would be wholly unfair.

Not that life had ever been fair.

Murata lowered the book and said tonelessly, “Why do you care?” He refused eye contact with Shinou, instead looking into the fireplace. He wasn’t going to extend that courtesy. 

“I never stopped,” Shinou said.

“Don’t,” Murata snapped. “This is none of your concern, and since you said you weren’t going to interfere, you’d best forget about it.”

“I know you are smart enough to come up with some solution. And you are scarcely without authority. At the least, you can order him to come see you.”

Murata laughed sarcastically, his nerves feeling raw. “You haven’t changed at all. I won’t order anyone in this matter. Or,” Murata said acidly, “perhaps I should knock him on the head so he loses all memory and start again? What do you think?” The first time he ever brought up the subject, of how Daikenja met Shinou, how he lost all memory of his name, of his heritage. The first deceit of Shinou those thousands of years ago. It was a vicious barb, used entirely to hurt. Maybe it worked.

There was no response. Shinou had disappeared.

~***~

The day of the wedding was bright, was cheerful. A lovely spring day, the type that Günter and Mother had hoped for.

Wolfram felt oddly numb. Yuuri had wanted his company for most of the morning as he fussed and fretted about his outfit, the horse parade, his vows.

“What if she doesn’t show?”

Wolfram had shaken his head, feeling generally uncomfortable about the whole situation, giving advice on relationships. “Why would she not?”

“Well...maybe she decided she doesn’t like me? Maybe she’ll say no. Or worse,” Yuuri’s voice rose, “What if she runs away?”

“She _won’t_ run away.”

“How do you know?” Yuuri’s voice had a tinge of hysteria in it. As much as he loved being Yuuri’s confidant, he really wished Yuuri would confide these types of things to Conrad instead.

Wolfram took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten before answering,  
“Lady Claudia is an honest woman. If she didn’t want to marry you, she would have told you earlier. Don’t you have faith in the woman you love, Yuuri?”

“I guess, if you put it that way, it makes me look a bit silly, huh?”

Wolfram’s look must have been unsympathetic because Yuuri looked sheepish. It wasn’t usual for Yuuri to have such doubts. He was always so confident, sometimes dangerously so. It hurt to realise that it wasn’t him that was giving Yuuri so much anxiety. That it wasn’t him that Yuuri was so worried about. But the hurt passed quickly, not quite the raw pain it would have been before...

“Excuse me, Your Majesty, my Lord.” A shrine maiden appeared, face downcast. “Apologies for interrupting, but Lady Ulrike has asked for Lord von Bielefeld’s assistance in an errand.”

Now that was unusual. Wolfram couldn’t imagine what assistance he could give that any of the other shrine maidens couldn’t handle easily. “What task does your Lady wish for me?”

“I do not know, my Lord. You will need to speak to Lady Ulrike on the matter.”

~***~

Wolfram straightened his military dress uniform. It was stiff and new. It was only proper after all, as a noble attending the Maou’s official wedding, but he wasn’t overly fond of how uncomfortable it felt. It didn’t help the gnawing anxiety in his stomach either, not only with the wedding coming up, but the delivery he was tasked with.

He looked at the envelope addressed to the Sage in swirling cursives. What manner of communication required he personally deliver it, and not the dozen of shrine maidens running around in preparation for the wedding was beyond him. Then again, with all the shrine maidens running around, perhaps he was the only one free. His duty would only be onerous after the wedding when he escorted Yuuri back to the castle. For now he had plenty of free time.

Well, the sooner he delivered the message, the sooner he could get back to Yuuri’s fretting.

When he got to the hall leading to the Sage’s rooms, he set his face to impassive and hardened his heart. He was already rehearsing what he would say, how he would look in his mind. He wouldn’t let his resolve waiver for a minute. He wouldn’t allow it.

He wasn’t far from the door when he heard Yozak’s voice, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his feet suddenly felt frozen to the floor, he would have fled, there and then.

“Your charms won’t work this time, Yozak,” Murata’s voice could be heard clearly.

_Not again, sweet Shinou, please don’t make me go through this again._

Yozak laughed. In Wolfram’s hand the enveloped crackled, creasing. “I _am_ insulted. But don’t worry, Your Eminence; I don’t need any darning. I had the seamstress check everything this time.” 

“Good,” Murata replied. There was the sound of a book being closed shut. “The last thing I want to do is spend an hour mending your underwear. _Again_.”

Wolfram’s eyes widened. What? Did that mean...

“Heh,” there was a sound of tinkling. “This time I have cute bells sewn into the ribbons.”

“Very pretty,” Murata’s dry and somewhat bored voice replied.

“Don’t you forget it! Well, I’m off to find someone who can appreciate my special charm. Do you have any further instructions?”

“No. Let me know if anything untoward happens, but otherwise, we’ll report here tomorrow evening. Thank you, Yozak”

“Your Eminence,” was Yozak’s dry reply.

Wolfram shoved the note into Yozak’s surprised hand as the redhead exited the Sage’s rooms. 

“Give this to the Sage,” he said in a lowered voice.

“Sure?” Yozak gave him an odd look, a cross between exasperation and curiosity.

“It’s from Lady Ulrike.”

“No problem. But you can’t hand it to him because-”

“I’m _busy_. I shouldn’t have to play messenger like some common servant,” Wolfram snapped, and then turned and left, his boots literally squeaking as he changed direction, trying to get as much distance as possible, so he could have a moment alone to think.

~***~

The wedding went well, more than well. If Wolfram was in a more positive frame of mind, he would have agreed with Günter’s words that ‘it was the most spectacular and poignant wedding in the history of this great kingdom.’  
There were no assassination or kidnapping attempts; all the guests behaved. Lady Claudia did not run away, and more surprisingly, at least to Wolfram, Yuuri was able to say all his lines flawlessly.

All this would be Wolfram’s clear assessment a number of days later. At the time, he only barely paid attention and only as a matter of necessity for security reasons. Wolfram went through the motions in the ceremony; fortunately for him, it only meant following Yuuri, Lady Claudia, and his inner entourage into the temple sanctuary and looking after a jewel encrusted ring which was to be given to Lady Claudia. The last part was an Earth tradition that Yuuri had talked Günter and Murata into incorporating. 

Though, personally, Wolfram had thought it was a pointless addition which ruined the flow of the traditional ritual. Yuuri and his wife would go back to Earth to have another wedding for the sake of his own family.  
Not that he was even worrying about it during the ceremony; another double-black was occupying his thoughts. The Sage. The man had performed his part in the ceremony with perfection, his countenance and formal outfit giving him that distant aura as the high priest of the Great One. Though he was sure he could see a sparkle in the man’s eyes as he finalised the union, which only slightly spoilt the aura.

Beautiful, magnificent, annoying, and completely unattainable. 

Wolfram wanted. 

He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything so badly. He wanted to grab the Sage and…kiss him and hug him and shake him for making him so miserable these last few months.

Wolfram _wanted_. And he couldn’t do anything about it, not during the long ceremony, not during the parade back to the Castle, not during the banquet and speech. Oh Fates, the only way he could even get through Günter’s interminable speech was to imagine all the ways he could shut the man up, maybe setting his hair on fire or throwing an angry nest of hornets on him.

Finally, _finally_ the speeches were done, the rituals completed, no more toasting, or sitting and standing, or bells ringing, or any of the other rituals that any other day Wolfram would have thought essential, an affirmation of all that made Shin Makoku great. But today, the endless rituals were all one horrible test of endurance.

Now he was at the wedding ball. He downed a long flute of wine as he watched Murata across the dance floor, talking to some young noble with dark blue hair. And….now Wolfram didn’t know what to do next.

“Either go and talk to him or go to bed.” Elizabeth appeared next to him. “I was hoping for a dance, but it’s clear there is only one thing on your mind, and you’d only be tedious for company.” She took the glass from him.  
Wolfram scowled at her, but Elizabeth was unfazed. Wolfram had never managed to ever intimidate the woman. “ _Go_ ,” Elizabeth gestured across the dance room towards the Sage. “Unless you want to run away and go hide in your room like a wimp.”

He wasn’t a wimp! There was only one of those here, and he was dancing with his wife at the moment.

He straightened his back, and before he left to navigate the crowds, he gave Elizabeth a small smile. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

~***~

Fortunately for the young noble with blue hair, by the time he made it across the large ballroom, Murata was alone. Murata had his back to the wall, studying the crowd with an absent look.

 

“Wolf- Bielefeld!” Murata gave him a startled look. “Is there a prob-“

Wolfram grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out to the hallway. Murata followed, unresisting as he walked down one set of halls and turned a corner into another, finally pulling Murata with him into that same familiar dark alcove he had hidden in months ago after Yuuri announced his engagement.

Murata didn’t complain, didn’t say anything as Wolfram put his hand against Murata’s chest, warm and solid. A small part of him relished that total trust, that Murata would just allow him to do that, to drag him off without an explanation. The fact that Murata would allow that, in spite of everything that had transpired between them was an exhilarating feeling.

They stood there for a beat, two, three - he took a deep breath.

“I thought you and Yozak...I thought you were...” Wolfram’s voice stuttered. His feeling had built over the last few hours.

“Yozak?” Murata said surprised. “Wolfram, I don’t-”

“I saw you,” Wolfram cut in. His voice was broken. It was hard to speak with all these feelings boiling up, but he needed to get across his meaning. “That day I returned from patrol. I came back early. I saw you under his dress and..I-“

Murata’s eyes widened, and then he grabbed Wolfram’s shoulders. “Oh _fates_ , Wolfram that was-“

“I know, I know now,” Wolfram cut him off again. “I heard you talk to Yozak, but...that’s why...” he trailed off. “That is one thing I couldn’t forgive, so I....” He buried his head against the stiff collar of Murata’s formal outfit, resting his hands tentatively around his waist. “I’m sorry,” Wolfram whispered. 

Long fingers trailed through his hair. “There is no one else. There hasn’t ever been for a long time. And, as long as you would have me, Wolfram, you will be the only one I love.”

Wolfram pulled back. For a moment, he was at a loss for words, hardly believing that Murata would make such a bold statement without even a slither of shame. “Well, _good_ , because...because...”

  


He cupped Murata’s face and looked into those dark eyes to show his seriousness. “I swear I will _kill_ you if you are unfaithful...I know it’s wrong but...I-“He pushed forward and kissed Murata fiercely. Pushing his tongue in and pulling Murata against him. Those fingers were in his hair again. Murata was making those little broken noises, the ones from that glade. It made him want to do ‘wild’ things, pull off that jacket, remove that stiff collar, and leave marks over that long throat. He wanted to leave marks everywhere.

A hand pushed against him, and for an instant Wolfram thought that Murata had rejected him, that he’d been too forward, too ...forceful, insolent in his words and deeds considering his own position.

“You know,” Murata said in a breathy voice laced with amusement, instantly allaying Wolfram’s fears. “That brutal streak of possessiveness in you isn’t the healthiest,” Murata traced his thumb over Wolfram’s eyebrow. “But if you only show it in this way, trust me, there is no reason I’d ever stray. 

“Let’s go back to my room,” Murata said, before Wolfram could even process those words, never mind coming up with a reply. “I want to show you how much I love you, thoroughly and in a large soft bed.”

They met no other guests as Murata led him to his suite, other than two guards who diligently averted their eyes. That meant half the castle would know by sunrise, unless Murata personally ordered them to silence. Wolfram didn’t care if Murata didn’t...if everyone found out.

He wanted _everyone_ to know.

He wanted everyone to know whose bed he spent the night with.

Even if it was a lover only, lover always, Wolfram didn’t care. Because he was finally, finally sharing his body with the person whom he loved, and more importantly, with someone who loved him back and had no problem telling him that plainly.

For the sake of his peace of mind. Wolfram needed to accept that Murata was speaking truth. 

He would refuse to think otherwise.

They moved through the main rooms through to Murata’s bedroom. Wolfram had never been in the Sage’s bedroom. He looked around curiously – a glow lantern was lit, and from from little he could glimpse, it looked very much similar to Yuuri’s room. A large canopy bed, solid oak, dominated the room. One wall had wide wardrobes crafted in the same wood, as well as a dresser. Though unlike Yuuri’s room, one wall was covered with bookshelves, and the one bedside he could see had a chaotic pile of documents and books. Wolfram wasn’t surprised at the clutter; he’d seen Murata’s study, and it was much in the same way.

He turned to face Murata. The Sage’s glasses flashed in the glow of the lamp, and he found his resolve crumbling. In just those few moments, he had cooled a bit, and he suddenly felt anxious.

“I... _don’t_ ,” he said, not sure what to say.

Murata pulled his glasses off, his eyes so dark in the dim room, and dropped them onto the marble mantlepiece next to the door without even looking, and then with two steps, pulled him into a kiss before breaking away, forehead leaning against him as fingers brushed along his cheek. “You do? Don’t you?” Murata whispered in a voice which was husky.

“Yes... _yes._ ” Wolfram swallowed and spoke again. “But...I don’t know what you want...” He closed his eyes, feeling ridiculously embarrassed.

“Just do what feels right for you. Do what you want. I am yours.” Murata leaned forward and lightly kissed him on the right corner of his lip, hands still brushing his cheek before deepening the kiss.

The desire, that raw need built up in him once again, and this time, when Murata made that broken noise, he couldn’t hold back; he found himself pushing forward, his chest and his hips pressing against the Sage’s. Wolfram wanted to feel every part of the man. In the momentum, Murata fell back with a faint thud against the wall next to the marble mantlepiece.

Wolfram pulled back from the kiss. “Sorry...I...”

“No,” Murata said breathlessly, and he caressed the nape of his neck, “Don’t be sorry. I want this. I want _you_. Let go, Wolfram, there is little you can do that will surprise me. I want your hunger. I want _everything_.”

That permission was all he needed. Murata wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Murata raised his chin, and he kissed the Sage’s cheek then the side of his neck. The stiff black and gold fabric barred his way, and with a growl of frustration, he yanked at the buttons, wanting to feel the flesh under his lips, wanting to lick down Murata’s pulse point. 

The design frustrated his goal. Irritating fishhook clips underneath made it difficult to budge, a style he wasn’t used to wearing himself, never mind trying to undress for another. Wolfram wasn’t getting anywhere, but with a soft chuckle, Murata brushed aside his finger, and then unbuttoned the top one with his nimble fingers. Then, Wolfram was able to reach in and pull the rest of the hooks free until Murata’s throat was exposed. 

Murata turned his head to the side and yanked him downward. Wolfram didn’t have to be told twice as he started kissing his throat, then sucked, encouraged by Murata’s small sighs. His body felt hot, a small part of him, the part still thinking, marvelled at his own boldness, though that thought was becoming more irrelevant under the fuzzy haze of lust.

There was a clink to his right, and he realised that through it all Murata had been removing his cravat chain, his cravat, and was now unbuttoning the top of his jacket. How Murata had the sense to do that when Wolfram’s mind one fog of desire was beyond him.

Somehow, through a combination of kissing and Murata undressing him - jacket, ceremonial dagger, boots dropping onto the plush carpet, they managed, with a swaggering push, to reach the bed. With a huff, he was pulled down beside Murata.

“My god, you are so very lovely,” Murata said softly, his archaic accent thick as he brushed a finger along Wolfram’s bottom lip. A wave of embarrassment hit him, and Wolfram looked away. That dreamy haze lifted slightly, though his desire did not; his cock was very hard within the confines of his trousers and g-string, the only thing he was still wearing.

“You are too...far more so...”

Both Yuuri and Murata were far better-looking than even the most attractive mazoku. Once, Wolfram would have said that Yuuri was the most attractive – but he could hardly remember that time. There was something...so warm and so reachable in Murata’s eyes in contrast, and that made him so much more dear to Wolfram and incredibly more beautiful.

Murata was half on top of him, white undershirt barely hanging off his lean frame, and Wolfram reached his fingers around, gliding his hand down around Murata’s waist, enjoying the heat as he explored. 

Just like him, Murata still had his trousers on.

“What do you want?” Murata asked quietly.

“I should ask that question of you,” Wolfram said. After all, Murata was the Sage, which was something that could never be wholly disregarded. He tried his best to sound confident, though in the inside he was nervous, nervous and incredibly excited.

“I want to please you, Wolfram. First times should be special, don’t you think?”

“Is it so obvious?” Wolfram asked, sudden shame thick in this throat.

Murata pulled Wolfram’s hand into his and kissed it and said kindly, “I think, only to me.” 

No, maybe his brothers and mother suspected, but Yuuri never knew...they scarcely spoke of sex.

“I know that your virginity is unusual for a mazoku of your age, but if it counts for anything, I find it very attractive. I think I’m extremely lucky to be your first.”

Wolfram opened his mouth and shut it.

“So,” Murata said, smiling down at him as he squeezed his hand. “What do you want? Tonight I am yours in any way you see fit.”

“I....” Wolfram trailed off. He had some vague ideas, but there were things he had barely thought of and one thing that was unimaginable.

Murata gave his hand another kiss. “Well, how about I start – and you let me know if you have any ideas or want to do something else.”

As he said this, he placed his hand flat on his chest and then straddled him. Wolfram was mesmerised as that clever hand moved down his chest and then to his abdomen, leaving a path of heat behind. When Murata’s hand got to the top button, his heart skipped a beat, and he looked up to see Murata watching him intently as he continued, then reached a hand down within to squeeze his shaft.

Wolfram hips arched, and he may have made a whimpering sound. It felt so good to be touched in such a way.

“I think we should take this off.” 

Wolfram nodded as Murata pulled his trousers down, embarrassment was once again being drowned by overwhelming desire. Though even then, he had to resist covering his face as his trousers were thrown off the bed, leaving only his blue underwear.

The head of his erection was jutting out from the hemline, the seam digging across his shaft, making it uncomfortable. Gently, Murata pulled his hem down and encircled it. Wolfram couldn’t help but gasp out loud.

“Very nice,” Murata said in approval and with a slight squeeze of his cock, followed that with, “Lovely all over.”

“ _Don’t say such vulgar things,”_ Wolfram _would_ have said, but before he could even open his mouth Murata stroked him slowly, pulling his foreskin down to rub the tip of his penis, which was such a delicious feeling.

“Oh... _ohh..._ ”

“Like that?” When Wolfram was able to focus, Murata was watching him keenly, a smile tugging at his lips. 

Wolfram nodded.

“I think I’d like to suck your cock? Would you like that too?”

It took a little while to process that question, and he nodded again, too overwhelmed and shocked to speak.

Murata’s smile widened.

~***~

Even this far up, Yozak could hear the music from the ball below. He turned into the corridor which led to the Great Sage’s rooms.

“Did the Great Sage come past, Gerald?” 

Gerald was one of the guards who was stationed at this end of the corridor, a young man with a great talent for brewing hops on the side.

“Yes Sir, he went through about a half-hour ago.” Strange for the Sage to leave this early. Yozak had noticed he’d been a bit quiet today – he’d wondered if anything had happened over the last few months he’d been on assignment. He’d better go check on him.

“Sir…pardon me, but you’d probably not want to interrupt. The Sage has _company_.”

Well, wasn’t that interesting. 

“I don’t suppose this company was a blond noble, by any chance?”

Gerald gave him a lopsided smile. “It might have been, Sir.”

Very _interesting_. Evidently, the rumours he’d overheard at the ball about the brat’s falling out with the Sage had been wrong.

Well, good for them.

He was about to turn when he caught a flicker of movement down the hall.

“Sir?” Gerald noted his look.

“No one else has been through here?” 

“No, Sir.” And this was the only entrance to the hall, well the only entrance that the public knew about.

“Stay here; I’m just going to go check the area.”

There was nothing in the hall; he checked twice, and the door to the Sage’s room was bolted shut. For a second there, he’d thought he’d seen a blond figure at the end of the hall, a few metres down from the Sage’s rooms, below a portrait of Daikenja. 

_Great, now I’m imagining things._

~***~

“I think I’d like to suck your cock? Would you like that too?”

It took a little while to process that question, and he nodded again, too overwhelmed and shocked to speak.

Murata’s smile widened, and he pressed his thumb lightly once more on his cock-head before making himself comfortable between Wolfram’s legs and taking the head of his cock smoothly into his mouth.

Wolfram’s eyes fluttered shut, and he ground both hands into the mattress. He let out a low groan as Murata took him in further, with little flurries of his tongue down his shaft. It took all of his willpower not to thrust into that wet tightness.

He opened his eyes when he felt a hand grab his right hand tightly. Murata’s mouth was wide around his cock, almost down to his root, black eyes watching him. Murata deliberately placed Wolfram’s hand in his hair. Then he pulled back so he could see his erection, indecent, swollen, and wet from Murata’s saliva and then back again, a rhythm in his thrusts. So perfect. So wonderful.

Wolfram clung to the wiry locks, his fingers digging in. Without any thought, he found he was pushing down, encouraging Murata to continue, his fingers tangled in the black hair.

With one hand holding the base of his cock, another came up and held onto his free hand, tightly, a support and a connection. And all through, those dark eyes were watching him. He felt undone, robbed of thought, of anything other than feeling and need.

It was getting all too much for him, and he couldn’t stop his hips from arching up and his hands from pulling at Murata’s hair to increase the thrusts. That didn’t seem to bother Murata in the slightest, taking Wolfram’s cock without any outward discomfort, in truth, quite the opposite as he moaned tightly around him when Wolfram pulled especially hard at the dark hair.

That was enough for Wolfram to reach his peak, and he came with a cry, thrusting up without thought, and dimly through it all, he could feel Murata’s hands in his, a thumb caressing his inner wrist soothingly in stark contrast to the lewd actions. How could something so base make him feel cared for?

The world went away for a moment, and when he was aware again, Murata was up next to his left side, his body now fully naked against his side as he gently rubbed his hands down Wolfram’s side, and then latched his lips softly along his collarbone. 

“Murata...” Wolfram said...his voice sounded so small and a little uncertain.

“Hmmmm....” Murata responded and kissed him again lightly, hands still on his side. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

“How could I not?” Wolfram said, eyes closing again as Murata’s hands wandered down further to his groin, just shy of touching his oversensitive sex. “You were....”

Murata moved half on top of him, one hand on his hip, a leg between his, and he could feel Murata’s erection, hot and hard, against his upper thigh. “You were? How was I?” Murata asked teasingly, again dipping his head down, this time to latch onto his left nipple.

Wolfram’s voice was breathless as he said, “You were very-“He broke off as Murata’s teeth softly squeezed his swollen nipple, and he could feel himself becoming aroused again. “Were...are...very conceited,” he finished, feeling just a little clever that he was able to put together such a sentence, and for some reason, that made him feel less embarrassed, more in control.

“But you enjoyed it?” There was still that teasing quality, but below was a tinge of self-doubt, something he’d never thought he’d hear from the Sage, whose voice had always been confident and assured before.

He looked up to meet Murata’s gaze above him. His wavy hair had fallen down over his eyes a little, and Wolfram reached up to pull the strands back. “I enjoyed it,” Wolfram said simply.

Murata smiled at him and then asked,“Can I kiss you?”

“After everything you have to ask?” He replied a little sarcastically.

Everything.

“Well,” Murata said dryly, “considering after _everything_ ,” Murata brushed one hand down to his slowly reawakening cock gently to emphasis his words,” it’s not always to every person’s _taste_.”

Oh.... _oh_.

Wolfram’s moment of confidence evaporated as he thought of that, and he felt embarrassed once more, looking away. 

“I don’t mind,” he said to the canopy. And he didn’t, in truth. He knew what his essence tasted like, after all. He was a mazoku in his prime; he’d had plenty of opportunity to experiment, not that it was a thing he’d done much more than lick his fingers occasionally.

Murata leaned down and pressed his lips against his, not doing any more. It was Wolfram who pushed his tongue in impatiently, pushing Murata down like he had done just before, when Murata had been sucking on something other than his tongue.

And maybe it wasn’t for everyone’s taste, but he like the taste of his seed on Murata’s lips – on some primal level it pleased him very much, and he explored every corner with his tongue, seeking out that salty tang.

He wondered vaguely as the kiss deepened further, and Murata’s other hand had started to stroke his cock once more, how Murata would taste. What it would feel like to suck on the other’s cock. At that thought, he realised he hadn’t had a chance see Murata fully naked to see what his cock looked like.

He’d only processed that with his desire-addled mind when Murata pulled back and then sat atop him, straddling his hips like he was a horse, the crevice of his arse cheeks resting against his almost erect cock. Murata weighed not much, and the mattress beneath him made it comfortable.

Wolfram didn’t have to wonder anymore, though the few lamps in the room were dim, it was enough light for him to see. He couldn’t help but look, with the firm pillow beneath him, it was nigh on eye level.

Murata’s cock was hard, and he could see the wetness on the tip as it pushed out from the foreskin. It was much like his, though slightly thicker and shorter. His pubic hair was black as well. That didn’t surprised him. Wolfram had shared baths with both Yuuri and Murata before, and his eyes had, as wont to do, naturally noticed, curiosity after all. Wolfram’s eyes flicked up to see Murata studying him again, and it was then he noticed how Murata’s hips were thrust forward slightly, proudly in fact.

“You have no shame,” Wolfram said, though he was itching to touch, to feel Murata’s cock beneath his fingers.

Murata smiled again. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.” Then he made a small aborted bounce. It brought delicious friction, and he groaned. Murata was maddening; at this rate, he didn’t know if he’d lose his mind from the pleasure or be distracted silly by Murata’s relaxed attitude… 

Murata leaned over and brushed his cheek. “Nor do you, my love.”

_My love._

He had a good idea of where this would lead, of what Murata would want from him now...and though the thought made him nervous and uncertain, he needed to hear one thing to make it easier.

“Am I your love?”

“Yes,” Murata said with no hesitation.

“I would hope so,” Wolfram said. He knew his face was heating, but hopefully the bad lighting would hide that.

Murata’s face softened. “I want to make you feel especially good, because I love you.”

“The same with you,” Wolfram said quickly and looked away. 

Murata took his hand again and squeezed it. “Now hold that thought.” Murata crawled over to the other bedside table and rifled through the top drawer.

When he came back he held two objects, a vial of some sort, which Wolfram was sure held oil, and a silver square which he ripped open with his teeth.

“What is that?”

“A condom from Earth. The material is a little different.”

“I am hardly going to get pregnant...” Wolfram said sarcastically. He’d heard of soldiers, especially humans, who were far more fertile wearing them to prevent pregnancy, made from thin lamb skin.

“No, nor would I,” Murata said oddly. “But trust me, these have other uses. It will make things a little cleaner and easier. They are coated with lubricant, like the oil I have in the vial.”

Wolfram gasped as with no effort at all, Murata sheathed it down on his erect cock and then brushed his thumb over the tip. It felt almost as if nothing was there, the sensation practically the same. 

“Extra thin,” Murata said with satisfaction.

Wolfram got up on his elbows. “Why...” he cleared his throat and tried again. “Why are you putting it on me?” Shouldn’t it be Murata wearing it?

Murata uncorked the vial and coated his fingers with it. “I want to fuck myself on your cock.”

“How...” Wolfram gasped again. “Don’t say such things!” He wanted to cover his eyes from embarrassment, but underneath, he felt so hot at the thought.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Wolfram was surprised at how much Murata talked to him, had spoken to him, had asked him how he felt, especially as it was apparent how eager Murata was, his cock so hard and his words a little unsteady. Wolfram’s expectations had been hazy, but he figured a lot of it would be to lay back and allow Murata to do what pleased him.

He couldn’t say he minded it. It eased his fears a little, and he couldn’t say he minded what Murata wanted of him, even if the words were crude. Quite the opposite really.

“I do not know what...to say,” embarrassment wore at his pride.

“Say no, and I’ll stop, or...” Murata took his hand, “If you cannot, then tap me on the right shoulder twice, and I’ll stop. It’s easy.”

Wolfram nodded. “I won’t say no.”

“But if you change your mind,” Murata said offhandedly, like he was talking about the weather. Strangely, that calmed his nerves down a little; if Murata didn’t think it was a shameful thing, or improper considering their social status, then maybe- his thought disappeared as Murata stroked him once, leisurely.

Then, putting weight on his knees, straddling Wolfram’s...slowly, very slowly Murata lowered himself on Wolfram’s length. The mood between them changed immediately, becoming heated. Murata arched his back as he grinded himself down; it felt so good, and Wolfram clung to Murata’s hips.

Murata didn’t look away from him as he pushed himself up and down again, over and over. It was amazing having his cock encased like that, and it excited him, the pleased feeling he had had of finding his essence on Murata’s tongue, of having invaded that space, came back tenfold…

  


“You feel so good,” Murata murmured as he plunged down again.

And that was enough to break Wolfram self-control. With his cock still impaled, he rolled them over so he was on top. Murata groaned loudly as the movement pushed Wolfram deeper, and the Sage wrapped his legs around his waist and arms around his shoulder.

His body took over then. It knew what it wanted and what felt good, and apparently that was exactly what Murata wanted as well. He sped up his thrusting, and Murata angled his hips up to meet each thrust.

Murata gasped, eyes screwed shut, and murmured his name over and over again, and it pleased Wolfram when he started murmuring brokenly in his earth language, meaningless syllables...and his name. Wolfram had provoked this reaction. He’d made Murata lose control, just as much, maybe even more so than he himself. Well maybe not, as his thrusts become erratic, and he fumbled around to stroke Murata’s cock. With a broken cry, Murata came, and it only took a few thrusts, as his cock was squeezed tightly, for him to follow with intense pleasure.

This time, he did pass out completely.

He awoke with a kiss on his cheek. “Still alive?”

“Hmmm...” he said, and he felt a towel below. Murata was cleaning up. “Am fine...sometimes...I get sleepy.”

“Maybe you should change your diet?” It was more a suggestion really, but it was a little annoying.

“I eat perfectly fine,” he grumbled, and he opened his eyes. “You are just as intolerable in bed.”

Murata grinned. “Did you think I would magically change personality as soon as I got you into bed? You haven’t changed either.”

That was true, and Murata was right...but...”Is that a _bad_ thing?” He meant to sound irritated, but he couldn’t help the small smile that played on his lips. It should be vexing how much Murata could rile him and still be so damn beautiful and...attractive. Truth was, he wasn’t that irritated at all; he didn’t think he could pretend otherwise.

“No, it’s _exactly_ what I wanted. You are exactly what I want.” Murata climbed out of bed. “Come on, let’s take a bath before sleeping.”

~***~

The sunlight on his face woke him up. He wasn’t used to that; in his bedroom, he only got a sliver of afternoon sun from the narrow window in the corner.

For a moment, he lay there. The mattress below him was softer than he was used to, and it felt warm and safe. His eyes snapped open as he remembered where he was and what happened the night before.

He got up on one elbow. He was alone in the bed; indeed, he was alone in the room.

He had woken a few times during the night, curled around Murata. Murata smelt of pine and something indefinable. It was a soothing mix which led him back to sleep each time.

Now he was alone. He only just acknowledged that, when the door opened with Murata in his formal outfit carrying a tray.

“Morning,” Murata said cheerfully before depositing the tray on the bedside. The tray was heaped full of freshly baked sweet cakes. Wolfram noticed two types of berries he liked the most, the smell divine. “Did you just wake up? I left a note.” Murata pointed to a parchment that was next to the tray. “I awoke early to see off Shibuya and Lady Claudia,” Murata said as he unbuttoned his jacket and slung it across the end of the bed.

“Oh,” Wolfram said. He hadn’t even thought of that. “I hope they have a pleasant trip.” He had tried to sound polite, but it came out hollow. Murata gave him a small smile and continued undressing casually, not in any way embarrassed to be naked in broad daylight.

Wolfram peeked a little; he knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed as Murata pulled on a loose white robe, pulled his glasses onto the bedside, and then crawled back onto the bed. “I thought it would be nice to spend the morning in bed, eating cakes and other things.” Murata settled next to him on his knees, the robe falling back so he could see a nipple and a collar bone, the colour of his skin contrasting with the white. Without even thinking, his hand reached to trace a finger along Murata’s collarbone. “We have to go to the noon day meeting, but we can stay here all morning…if that is what you want?”

“You keep embarrassing me with such questions.” And Wolfram looked up quickly into those dark eyes.

“Oh?” Murata quirked his head to the side. “In what way?”

It wasn’t an empty question, just simple curiosity and a smidge of concern.

Wolfram fingered the collar of his nightgown as he looked out the window.

He only had vague memories of bathing, of Murata washing his back and putting a nightgown on him. He had been so tired, but his trust had been so easy.

“Because, you do not need to ask them. I am here.” Wolfram gestured to the bed. “I have given myself to you. You are the Sage, after all.”

“Hmmm,” voice was neutral. The Sage took an intake of breath. “I have a confession to make,” Murata said slowly. “Something I have told no-one. It was expected that I was to marry Shibuya…originally.”

What? He could hardly believe his ears.

“Yes, that was Shinou’s wish. I suppose he thought that I’d have better control over him that way, and he was right. I wasn’t totally opposed to the idea myself, at first. Not because I wanted to control Shibuya, I figured out that wasn’t what I wanted a long time ago, but because he had a good heart. I think I could have loved him. And…he saw himself as my equal.”

“You are,” Wolfram said flatly. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Please let me explain.” Murata closed his eyes briefly. “I didn’t fall in love with Shibuya, Wolfram. Because he became engaged to you, and I thought, in time, he would love you. I didn’t want to interfere. So I let it be. But…back then, I was young, even with the memories, I was _very_ young. I was a teenager who didn’t have any inhibitions and had enough sexual energy and the memories to…power up all of Anissina’s inventions.” He gave a dry laugh. “And I am the Sage; everyone was in awe of me. In some ways, those rumours were right; when I was sixteen, I slept my way through a good chunk of the nobility. But I knew, even then, I knew…that, that it was wrong.”

“I don’t understand. You have the right to sleep with whom you wish, and as you said, you have no inhibitions.” _Unlike me_.

“Because…because,” Murata sounded weary. “I don’t know if they slept with me because they wanted to or out of a sense of obligation. Yes, I know many, _many_ just wanted the prestige of saying they were favoured by a double-black. And some were curious and were far older. But…I wondered, afterwards, when I was a little wiser, if there were some who-”

“You didn’t force them.” That notion was absurd; Murata was nothing like that.

“No, but I wonder if they felt they had the option of saying no. I regret that might have happened. I’ll never know, and that’s why I stopped having casual sex, and-”

“You think I am here out of obligation?” Wolfram fingers curled. “You _know_ that I challenged Yuuri to a duel when he proposed marriage to me.” Everyone knew that story.“He was the King, and I wasn’t even acknowledged as the heir, barely a noble, but that did not stop me. And even when he won, I could have left him. I thought about it many times in the early days. I’m not some docile servant to be ordered about. If I didn’t want to be here, I would not be. And in case you forgot, I turned you down at first.”

“You are the Sage, after all,” Murata said, in perfect imitation of Wolfram’s words before and then shrugged his shoulders.

“You idiot, I didn’t mean it that way…I just meant…it’s just…” Wolfram struggled to find the words. “You’re so confusing, just like Yuuri-“ He stopped, realising what he said. “I didn’t mean… It’s just…you’re both so…foreign sometimes. I thought you knew more about Shin Makoku; you courted me by tradition, and then you …don’t act like other nobles.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not really. Just confusing, I don’t know where I stand. If you acted as a mazoku, I’d know my place. I’m here because I want to be, but I’d still need to…I will still need to defer to you sometimes.”

“I don’t want you to,” Murata said flatly and then grabbed his hand. “I don’t just want a loyal bed mate, and I know you aren’t a docile servant. I want you to call me an idiot sometimes, to argue with me, to say no if you don’t want to do something. I want you as my partner, as my lover, and hopefully my husband…and more… _more_ than anything, I need you to be my friend. I need a friend, Wolfram. I really _need_ a best friend who I can confide in and trust.” Murata’s voice waivered.

“You are an _idiot_ ,” Wolfram said and pulled Murata into a tight hug and blinked, his eyes watering. “I love you. You’re confusing. I'm sure you’ll confuse me sometimes, but…I want to be with you because you make me happy. I’ve never really been good at friendship…but if you want that, I will be your friend.”

Murata’s arms snaked around and held him tight, and they sat there together in the morning sunlight.

  


End.

~***~


End file.
